That Was Yesterday
by Lyrical Ballads
Summary: AU. Rick has been released from jail after an attempted bank robbery and gets pulled into Chicago's underworld, where he meets a team of bootleggers, a selfish flapper, an Englishwoman with a passion for Egypt, and his former partner who put him in jail in the first place.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Mummy._

**Author's Note:** This is an AU story that takes place in Chicago (though sadly it has nothing to do with the musical _Chicago_). Even though Egypt is a great setting, I decided to do something different and place all the characters in America, just for the fun of it.

* * *

**That Was Yesterday**

Prologue

_Chicago, 1923_

Rick kept his eyes on the road as he drove down Chicago's busy streets, though he was starkly aware of the gun he had stashed into his shoulder holster. He was used to carrying guns. He fought for several months in the Great War, faced with the nightmare of rats and fever in the trenches, but something about the gun stored in his holster felt different from all those rifles he carried in the war. Much more personal, he guessed.

"You sure you wanna do this, Beni?" he asked his partner.

Beni sat in the passenger seat, smoking one of the Cuban cigars they had stolen last week. "Of course," he said, tapping ash out of the window. "It is easy money."

"You ever done it before?"

"No, but how hard can it be? All you do is walk into the building and wave your gun around. The moment these people see a gun, they give you whatever you want, and you don't even have to really shoot anyone in order to get rich. It is the easiest money there is."

"That easy, huh?" said Rick.

"It is easy to make money in this country. Look at your Prohibition. People like Capone are getting rich just by breaking a stupid law."

"You've got a point," said Rick. He glanced at Beni, who resumed smoking his Cuban, and thought the cigar looked almost comical sticking out of his mouth. A cheap cigarette, along with a flask of equally cheap gin, would have been more fitting.

Rick didn't bother smoking any of the stolen Cubans himself. He let Beni take half of them and sold the other half to guys who lived in his building at a discount price, knowing they wouldn't ask questions about where the cigars came from. Most of the people in that building were lawbreakers themselves.

"We're almost there," Beni remarked, watching Rick turn a corner. "What will you do with your share of the money?"

"I don't know," said Rick. "Maybe skip town. What about you?"

Beni flicked more ash off his cigar and let out a mocking laugh. "Pay my wife to keep her mouth shut."

"Do you even have a wife?"

"Of course I have a wife. Why else would I say so? She married me in Hungary a year ago and now I cannot get rid of her."

"I've never met her."

"Her English is bad," said Beni. "And you don't speak Hungarian. You would have nothing to talk about."

Rick reached the end of the street and parked his car, then checked the ammo on his gun one last time. "Well enough about your wife. Let's get in there and find some cash."

The two of them got out of the car and walked down the busy street, mingling with the dozens of men and women who filled Chicago day in and day out. Nobody gave Rick a second glance, since his hat and jacket looked identical to half the clothes on the street, and Rick led the way to the corner where a tall building loomed ahead, reaching towards the cloudless blue sky. "There it is," he told Beni. "Easy money."

Though it wasn't really about the money for Rick. Beni was the one who wanted the money. Beni _always_ wanted money, but Rick didn't care about getting rich. He just wanted the thrill of taking risks and if some cash happened to fall into his lap as a result, then he would take it without complaint and move on to the next exciting crime.

Rick walked through the double doors of the bank, Beni trailing behind him, and pulled his gun out of its holster. He started to shout those clever words that Beni had come up with yesterday, the ones that would get them both rich, but the words died on his lips as uniformed figures came out of nowhere, surrounding him on all sides with pistols in their hands.

"Beni?" said Rick, though he already knew he was doomed. "A little help here?"

Beni hadn't followed him all the way inside, but instead had lingered by the doors, safe from the cops that surrounded Rick. He looked at Rick and took off running, disappearing so fast it was like he had never been there at all, but Rick could have sworn he heard him laughing.

"Shit."


	2. Freedom

Freedom

_Three years later  
Chicago, 1926_

"A jolly good battle that was, back in '17," the bartender was telling Rick. "Jolly good battle, though we were tremendously outnumbered and reinforcements didn't arrive until those bastards had shot a few of us down. I was one of the very best pilots the force had ever seen, you know, and I would give anything—just _anything_—to live those glory days again!"

Rick was only half-listening as the old bartender rambled on about his war experiences. "Mind getting me a drink?" he asked.

"Oh, not at all. I say, you didn't happen to serve in the Great War, did you?"

"Yeah, I did," said Rick. "But I'd really like a drink."

"Of course, of course. What can I get a fine young soldier like yourself? It's bloody hard to get a hold of anything good these days, but we run a decent bar here at Hamunaptra."

"Nothing fancy. I just want something that'll get the job done."

The bartender grinned beneath his bristling white mustache. "I've got just the thing."

Rick absently tapped his fingers on the bar counter and looked around at Hamunaptra, the speakeasy he had wandered into ten minutes before. The place was located in the basement of an oriental rug shop, a run-down building with nothing but second-hand carpets for sale, and all Rick had to do was tell the shopkeeper he wanted to see the rugs from Seti's Palace in order to gain entrance. The place had been decorated to look like ancient Egypt, with a lot of statues and columns and symbols that Rick couldn't decipher, but the atmosphere felt the same as every other illegal bar he had visited, filled with cigarette smoke and drunken laughter.

"Here you are, my good man," said the bartender, setting a glass in front of Rick. "_Almost_ as good as what they served before the war, I guarantee it." He shuffled off to serve another customer, leaving Rick to sit alone and enjoy his much-needed drink.

"Old Winston is such a darling, isn't he?" somebody said to Rick's left.

Rick turned to look into a pair of green eyes that belonged to the woman beside him. She was more of a girl than a woman, hardly old enough to sit at the bar, and her bobbed hair caught the light, its blonde color standing out in the smoky atmosphere. Not a peroxide job like a lot of women had, but a deep, natural yellow similar to gold.

"Who's Winston?" Rick asked.

"The bartender, of course," said the girl. Her voice carried a faint English accent that faded in and out, growing stronger on some words and weaker on others. "Haven't you ever been here before?"

"No," said Rick. "I just got out of jail."

"Really." Her casual tone made her seem much older than her youthful appearance. "That's quite impressive. What did you get locked up for?"

"Tried to rob a bank. I only served three years 'cause they let me out early."

"Three years isn't so bad."

"Yeah, well it could have been zero years if my partner hadn't set me up. The cops were waiting for me inside the bank."

The girl lit a cigarette and seemed occupied with herself for a long moment, until she turned back to Rick and breathed a gentle puff of smoke in his direction. "Well that's a spot of bad luck. I'm Gloria Milton, by the way. My father swears we're related to some dusty old poet who lived a few hundred years ago, but I think that's all poppycock."

"I'm Rick O'Connell. And I don't know anything about poets."

"Good, because neither do I," said Gloria. "You ever dance, Mr. O'Connell?"

"Never learned how. I don't plan on it either."

"Well, that's all right. Sitting and talking is just as good. What are you going to do with yourself now that you're free from jail?"

Rick didn't know. He had spent the last three years waiting to get out of that miserable jail cell, but now that he was back on the street he realized he had nothing but a poor excuse for an apartment, some leftover cash from the stolen Cubans he sold to his neighbors, and the reminder that his partner had been bribed to set him up three years ago. "I don't know," he said, watching Gloria take a lazy drag on her cigarette. "I thought about skipping town before the cops grabbed me, but that's not gonna happen anytime soon. Guess I'll stick around and try to find some work."

"I would switch places with you in a heartbeat," said Gloria. "Two of my cousins are visiting from England and my family expects me to help entertain them, but I haven't seen them in five years. Cousin Jonny is still a good laugh, but all he cares about is money and playing cards, and Evy wants to see museums and visit libraries and run about the house wearing these horrible old glasses. Oh, they're both perfectly lovely, but we haven't got a single thing in common."

"Hey, at least you've _got _a family."

"Yes, and they're not so bad, but I'm the only one who truly enjoys a little excitement. Freddie—that's my brother—comes down here sometimes, but my sister Margaret won't. She's engaged to be married. _I_ won't get married for a long time, if I ever do at all."

Rick blinked through the haze of smoke that came from Gloria's cigarette, feeling a bit dulled from the alcohol in his system. He hadn't had a drink in three years. "Listen, I think I'm gonna go," he said, pushing his empty glass away.

"Oh, but the night is still so young," said Gloria, waving her cigarette for emphasis. "And you meet the most interesting people in these places. Last night I met the funniest little fellow, with a funny little mustache to match. He had this accent from some country over in Europe—I can't remember where—and he told me he prayed to ten different gods every night. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

Rick was glad he had finished his drink, or else he would have spilled it all over the counter. "You, uh, catch this guy's name at all?"

"Something foreign, no doubt. I'm terrible with names."

"Is he a regular here?"

"Probably. What's it matter?"

"Nothing really," said Rick, though he felt as if somebody had spilled ice water down his back. "He just sounds kinda like a guy I used to know."

He had spent three years thinking up all the ways he would hurt Beni if he ever saw him again, and now it looked like he would put some of those plans into practice, all because some talkative flapper decided to give her life story. Rick would bet everything he owned, which wasn't much after three whole years without any heists, that it _was_ Beni who met Gloria last night, and he signaled for Winston to pour him another drink.

"Do you mind if I call you Rick?" Gloria asked.

"As long as you don't call me Richard or Ricky, you're fine," said Rick.

"Well, Rick, would you like to hear a secret?"

"Sure."

Gloria leaned in closer to Rick, bringing a whiff of perfume and smoke. "I don't tell this to everyone, but there's something you should know about me." She placed a hand on Rick's shoulder and brought her lips, painted red to match her dress, next to his ear. "I _like_ criminals."


	3. Constraint

Constraint

Beni snuck into his apartment building feeling pleased with himself, remembering the way his bullet had struck that greaseball right in the back of the head, like hitting the bulls-eye on a dart board. Beni loved taking out Italians. They thought they owned the whole city with their tight-knit loyalty and their age-old traditions, but they were human like everyone else and bled on their dining room carpets the same as anybody. One carefully aimed shot was all it took to topple one of those bastards and Beni grinned to himself as he climbed the dark staircase that led to his floor.

He didn't know why he had been asked to eliminate the man and he didn't care either. The guineas were always making trouble for everyone anyway, thinking that they were the kings of Chicago, and they would be so busy trying to blame the Irish that they would never suspect a lone Hungarian had done the job. Beni crept down the shadowy hall, still wearing his fedora pulled low on his head to shield his face, and figured this last job had been his luckiest yet. The man had been alone in his apartment, sitting down to a nice Italian dinner he cooked himself, and he had an opera record blaring in the next room. Beni had never liked opera, but those loud dramatic voices had done a great job of muffling the gunshot.

He also got to enjoy a free Italian meal after the deed was done.

Beni unlocked his door and expected to find a dark apartment, but the lamp was on and Roza stood in her nightgown, waiting for him with a frown on her face. Beni hung up his hat and pretended not to see her.

"Did you do a job tonight?" Roza asked in Hungarian.

"Yes," Beni replied in the same language. "What do _you_ care?"

Roza was a small woman with dark hair and large brown eyes, a former slum girl of Budapest who had survived the same hard streets that Beni grew up on. "I know how much you get paid to do these jobs," she said, watching Beni remove his jacket. "I want a new wedding ring."

"Oh, shut up about the ring already," said Beni. "You've been bothering me about it for years."

"I'd stop bothering you if you bought me a new one."

"You don't need a new ring."

"Then how will anyone know I'm married? It isn't safe for an unmarried woman to go out there by herself."

Beni laughed, though it was more out of sarcasm than amusement. "And since when are _you_ vulnerable? Don't give me that bullshit, Roza. I sold your wedding ring so we could come to this country and I'm not spending money on another one."

"So _you_ could come to this country," Roza corrected. "You were going to leave me."

Beni often wished that he _had_ managed to leave her. He wouldn't have married her at all if he had the choice, but Roza's two older brothers, who were both much, much bigger than Beni, wanted their little sister properly wedded to the man she had been sleeping with. Beni had to attend the wedding with a black eye and a split lip because he had tried to avoid the ceremony, and when he tried to sneak off for America a month after the wedding, Roza followed him onto the boat and had given him hell ever since.

"I don't know what you want from me, Roza," Beni said, scowling at her. "I give you a place to live and food on your table, and you complain. I give you the money to cut your hair and buy clothes to look like the American women, and you still complain. Other men's wives have babies to give them something to do all day, but you can't even manage to do that."

"Well you can't blame me for_ that_, Beni," said Roza. "We've been married for almost five years and you won't stay off me. And I'm not the only one in this house who complains."

"I have more of a right to complain than you do. You followed me all the way to America and you don't even love me. You only married me because you hate your brothers and wanted to escape them, and you followed me because you can't take care of yourself and need a man to do everything for you."

"Oh, but I _do_ love you, Beni. Of course I love you." Roza's brown eyes widened in a way that Beni recognized, for they had both learned how to beg on the streets, and she pouted up at him, playfully hooking her finger around one of his suspenders. "You're the one who's heartless, my darling. _You_ married_ me_ so you could have a woman in your bed every night without having to pay for it."

"And that's the only reason I've stayed with you all these years," Beni scoffed at her. "Maybe I would love you if you shut your mouth."

She tugged on his suspender and laughed. "You'll never love anyone. You're a selfish bastard."

"And you're an ungrateful bitch. Go light me a cigarette."

"You and your cigarette can go to hell." Roza pulled away from him and stalked off to their tiny bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Beni thought about following her and giving her a good shake, just to show her that she couldn't talk to him that way, but instead he took advantage of the silence and searched through the cupboards, looking for the little bottle of vodka he had stashed away weeks ago.

But of course the bottle was nearly empty, just a few drops that wouldn't fill half a shot glass. Beni swore and lit a cigarette, then paced around the cramped apartment like a caged animal, feeling bored and restless despite the late hour. He rarely went to bed before midnight and it was only ten-thirty.

He tried to think of the Italian, of how the dumb guinea bastard felt safe enough to play his opera without a care, but Roza had ruined it. All the satisfaction and excitement had died away, leaving Beni to pace around feeling empty, and he cast one look at the bedroom door before walking out of the apartment, grabbing his hat and jacket on the way out. Who cared if Roza got lonely and wondered where he had gone? He deserved a break from her nagging and slunk outside with his cigarette in his mouth, all of his senses alert for any sign of trouble. He knew how to cover his tracks when performing a job, but he always lived his life on the verge of running, just in case someone decided he was more trouble than he was worth.

Beni's nighttime wanderings took him to the oriental rug shop not far from his apartment, where he found a stocky Arab man standing behind the counter, listening to a radio program. The man behind the counter caught sight of Beni and rushed forward to meet him, a wide grin on his face. "Welcome, welcome," he said in accented English. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to see the rugs from Seti's Palace," said Beni.

The shopkeeper's grin became wider. "Of course. You know we keep those rugs in a special place. Come, let me take you to them."

Beni followed the man across the chipped stone flooring, past the faded, second-hand carpets hanging on the walls, until he reached a flight of steps that led to the basement. He pushed past the shopkeeper without thanking him and entered a different world from the dingy shop above, a world in which anyone could do whatever they pleased without the law getting in the way. Beni had robbed people in the speakeasies countless times and it never got reported, since nobody wanted the cops involved, and he made his way through the smoky air of Hamunaptra, listening to the Egyptian flutes and cymbals that played in the corner instead of jazz instruments.

He found that girl he met three nights ago, the blonde one who looked young but acted much older, seated at the bar with a glass in her hand, and he remembered how he had gotten a glimpse down her dress when she bent down to adjust one of her shoes. Beni sat down on the empty bar stool beside her and smirked.

"I remember you," he said. "You liked my accent."

Her green eyes brightened at the sight of him. "Oh, it's _you_. I was just telling someone about you a couple of nights ago, but for the life of me I couldn't remember your name."

"Beni," he told her.

"Right, of course. And I'm Gloria." She shifted in her seat, giving him just a glimpse of what lay beneath her dress, and drained the last of her drink. "Why don't you be a good fellow and order me another cocktail, Beni?"

"Buy your own cocktail," said Beni, smirking at her again. "I don't buy drinks for people."

"What if I said please? Would you buy me a drink then?"

"No."

Most girls would have walked away at that point, but Gloria just looked at Beni with a strange little smile on her lips. "That's awfully bold of you," she said. "Most fellows won't admit how selfish they are, but we're _all_ selfish deep down inside. If you won't buy me a cocktail, then why don't you say something to me in that native language of yours, from wherever it is that you're from?"

"Hungarian," said Beni.

"Yes," said Gloria. "Tell me something in Hungarian."

Beni studied Gloria, thinking of those tantalizing glimpses she had given him, and said the first thing that popped into his head.

"How wonderful," said Gloria, leaning a little closer to him. "What did you say?"

Beni placed a hand on her leg, keeping his eyes fixed on her face as he gave her the translation. "Why don't you take off your dress?"

"I don't know," Gloria said softly, her voice practically a purr as she stared back at him. "Do you really think I should?"

"Yes."

"Then what are we waiting for?"


	4. Darkness

Darkness

Gloria Milton didn't like good men. Her father was a good man and never had a cruel word to say to anyone, but he had to be the most boring fellow alive. Her sister Margaret's fiance was another good man, kind and awkward in his glasses and bow ties, which was a real shame when his two closest friends were _so_ much more interesting. Men like her father and Margaret's fiance were perfectly nice and kept the world in polite working order, but Gloria didn't want to spend the best years of her life boring herself silly with perfectly good men.

The man who shared the bed with her was anything but good. He assassinated people for a living, or at least that was what he had told her, and he sat on the edge of the hotel bed drinking from a flask, defying Prohibition wherever he went. He wasn't handsome at all, but he was interesting, and Gloria would rather spend time with an interesting man than a handsome one.

She lay on her side, feeling wonderfully idle and wicked as she watched him through half-closed eyes. He said he forgot his wallet at home, which was probably a lie, but she paid for the hotel room without complaint and took off her dress, just like he asked her to at the bar. He spoke to her in Hungarian upon her request, muttering foreign words as he took her again and again, and she liked the sound of the language when he shaped it with his mouth, even if she couldn't understand a word.

Beni put his flask aside and looked at her, taking in the sight of her bare shoulder that she had failed to cover with the blankets. "Turn on your back," he said.

Gloria's lips curved into a lazy smile. "Why should I?"

"I'm not done with you, that's why."

"Well perhaps I'm done with _you, _Beni. I've had better, after all."

"Like who?"

"I went home with a gangster last week," said Gloria. "An _Italian_ gangster. I think his name was Antonio Something-or-Other, and he had the most splendid bed sheets made out of real silk. I bet _you_ haven't got sheets made of silk in whatever hovel you live in."

Beni started to laugh, though it came out as a series of whiny little snickers that matched his curious sounding voice.

"What's so funny?" asked Gloria.

"I just shot a man named Antonio," said Beni.

"Did you really?"

"I did. And he was one of your precious gangsters."

Gloria wasn't entirely sure if her gangster's name_ was_ Antonio, now that she thought about it. He could have easily been named Angelo or Arturo or something similar, though she supposed it didn't matter when she would probably never see him again. She shifted position and closed her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure it wasn't the same man."

"Why don't you call him and find out?" said Beni.

"I would if I actually cared enough."

Beni snickered again and resumed drinking from his flask.

He wasn't the first man that Gloria would choose, if she had her pick, but something about his funny accent and careless attitude appealed to her. She always _did_ like a man with an accent, no matter how whiny it sounded, and he may have looked shifty but he probably led the most exciting life, hunting down gangsters the way he did. If he was telling the truth. Though she had to admit, she would have liked to spend the night with that bank robber fellow—Rick, she believed his name was—if only he hadn't been preoccupied on the night she met him. In spite of all her clever flirting, he kept asking her questions about Beni, acting so drattedly vague that she couldn't figure him out.

She sighed and opened her eyes, resuming her half-closed stare. "Beni?"

He was searching through the drawers of the bedside table, looking for things to stuff into his pockets. "What?"

"Do you happen to know a fellow named Rick?"

He scowled at her. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was just wondering. Where's the harm in getting to know each other a little?"

"You talk too much." Beni shut the drawer and slipped under the blankets, settling his weight on top of her. He kissed her hard, effectively shutting her mouth, and Gloria didn't fight him when he took her yet again, making her forget all about Rick and cocktails and Hamunaptra. He seemed satisfied when he rolled off of her, judging from the smirk on his face, and he got up to fetch the jacket and fedora he had hung on the coat rack in the corner.

"Leaving so soon?" asked Gloria.

Beni jammed the fedora on his head, no longer looking smug. "I have to get home to my wife," he practically spat out.

She felt a strange little thrill when she heard the word "wife." Who knew that such a harmless word could sound so sordid? "How wonderful," she said sweetly. "How long have you been married?"

"Too long," Beni replied. He did the last button on his jacket and yanked open the door, disappearing from the room without saying goodbye.

Gloria laughed, trying to imagine what kind of woman would marry Beni, and remained in bed for a good ten minutes, knowing that she wouldn't be missed at home. Everyone went to bed early except for her brother Freddie, and Freddie never cared where she went or how late she stayed out. Once she managed to get out of bed, she took a bath and reapplied her makeup, simply for the benefit of anyone who might see her when she walked out the door, then checked out of the hotel and headed for the stately home her stuffy English parents had purchased ten years ago.

Nobody caught her as she entered through the back door, but on the way to her bedroom she saw a light in the study. It could be Freddie, of course, but Freddie had no reason to use the study so late at night when he preferred other haunts when the sun went down. The door to the study was open just a crack and Gloria pushed it gently, careful to keep the hinges from creaking, until she was able to see her cousin Jonathan pacing about with a glass in one hand and an open book in the other, moving at a leisurely pace across the carpeted floor.

"Gloria!" he said, looking startled to see her. "Why, you're all dressed up. Are you going somewhere this late at night?"

"Returning, actually," said Gloria. She slipped into the study and took a seat on the large leather sofa that had belonged to her father for thirty years. "What are you doing up, Jonny?"

"Oh, I'm just drinking some brandy and reading some Yeats. Couldn't sleep, you see." Jonathan peered down at the book in his hand. "Though this poem is rather bleak. _Things fall apart; the center cannot hold_ and all that."

"I've never read it," Gloria said.

"Yes, well you probably prefer _Paradise Lost_, don't you? Does your father still believe all that rot about being related to John Milton?"

"Of course he does. You know what a terrible, pompous bore Father is."

Jonathan's face faltered for a moment, but he soon composed himself with a half-hearted chuckle. "Right. Just be glad you've got a father, love."

Margaret and Freddie would have responded with something appropriate, something touching and sympathetic. _I'm sorry about Uncle Edward, Jonathan. Did you know that you look just like him?_ But Gloria had never been one for sympathy, even when she was a small child in England who preferred the city streets to the nursery, and her eyes fell upon the glass clutched in Jonathan's hand.

"Where did you get the brandy?" she asked. "You've been breaking into the private liquor cabinet, haven't you?"

"How else is a man supposed to survive in this God-forsaken country? Did you know that I didn't even _believe_ that Prohibition nonsense until Evy and I arrived last week? Freddie saved me from getting arrested just in the nick of time the other day."

"Oh, Prohibition just makes life more interesting," said Gloria. "It's more fun wanting something you can't have, you know."

Jonathan seemed to forget the brandy in his hand and nearly spilled it as he looked at Gloria, studying her as if he had never seen her before. "You know, you worry me just a little, dear girl, getting all dressed up and traipsing about at night. You're still my baby cousin to me."

"Don't worry about me, Jonny," Gloria said with a wave of her hand. "_I_ certainly never worry about me. Now pour me a glass of that brandy, will you?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm always wary about dragging in literary references, since there's a good chance that nobody will get them, but sometimes I can't resist. Jonathan refers to "The Second Coming," a poem by William Butler Yeats. _Paradise Lost_, of course, is an epic poem by John Milton.


	5. Acquaintance

Acquaintance

"...and then the bastard had the nerve to shoot me in the shoulder—my _right_ shoulder, mind you, which is very important for steering—but did I lose control of that plane? By Jove, I did not!"

Rick drank down his whiskey and tried to ignore Winston's ramblings, though the old bartender's words reminded him of the leg wound he received in France. It was nothing serious, just a bullet wound a few inches below the knee, but sometimes it bothered him in the middle of the night, especially when he was in jail with nothing but a hard, cold bed and a row of bars to comfort him. He still found it hard to believe that he was free after spending three long years in a tiny cell, paying for the mistake of putting his trust in Beni Gabor. Sure, the guy was weaselly and his accent got tiring after a while, but Rick had always assumed that Beni would put all of his energy into screwing over other people instead of his partner.

Boy, how wrong he had been.

"...oh, and this job just isn't the same, you know," Winston was saying. "Lovely atmosphere, of course. I've always had a weak spot for the exotic and all this Egyptian bric-a-brac is lovely, but I still dream of being in the air, soaring up amongst the clouds. Once a pilot, always a pilot, I say."

Rick could definitely relate. He had tried looking around for honest work, knowing he could get thrown back in jail if he fell back on his old habits, but those habits died hard. Rick didn't have any skills for honest work. He knew how to use a gun and he knew how to evade the law, but there weren't any wars to fight and he had lost his best partner. Rick drifted through the city, restless and incomplete after being locked away, and he found himself back at the exotic speakeasy set on the border between the North Side and the South Side.

Drinking didn't solve anything, but it sure as hell made a good distraction.

He had hoped to find Gloria, knowing she could possibly lead him to Beni, but Gloria was nowhere in sight that evening. How many nights had it been since he saw her? Three? Four? She was a little chatty and far too curious for Rick's tastes, but her blonde hair reminded him of a girl he used to know before he partnered up with Beni. He had known a lot of girls over the years, though they never became more than names and faces that faded away as time went by.

"I haven't seen _you_ before."

Rick looked up from his drink, taken aback by the female voice that definitely wasn't Winston's. A woman slid onto the bar stool beside him, a woman unlike any Rick had ever seen before. Her dark hair was long and straight, so different from the popular bobs and curls of most women, and she had dressed herself like an ancient Egyptian princess, complete with gold jewelry that looked like it cost a fortune. She carried herself like a princess too, as if she had every right to the gold and jewels that sparkled under the dim lighting, and she watched Rick with dark, kohl-lined eyes.

"Is there a costume party I didn't know about?" asked Rick.

"You're obviously not a regular." Her voice carried just the hint of an accent. "How do you like my Hamunaptra?"

"This place is _yours_? Get out of here."

"Why does that surprise you? Do you think a woman can't handle a business?"

"No, I just... expected the usual mobster guys to run this joint. You know how it is."

"I do," she said, continuing to watch him with those darkly intense eyes. "What's your name?"

"Rick."

"My name is Meela," she said. "But tonight I'm Anck-Su-Namun."

Rick had no idea what Anck-Su-Namun was supposed to mean, but he guessed it was ancient Egyptian gibberish. He ordered another drink from Winston and tried to shake off Meela's unfaltering gaze, but she continued to sit on her bar stool, looking far too graceful on such an ungraceful seat, and watched him drink down his whiskey.

Rick didn't consider himself to be a man of ideas, but an idea hit him when he glanced back at Meela and looked into her calculating eyes.

"So, I bet you know everyone who comes in here, huh?" he asked.

"Eventually," said Meela.

"You know a guy named Beni Gabor? Scrawny little Hungarian guy with a whiny accent?"

Meela's expression darkened. "Yes, I know Beni Gabor. What do you want with him?"

"I'm an old friend of his. Does he come in here often?"

"Often enough. He's impossible to get rid of."

"You know where he lives?"

The sound that came from Meela's mouth might have been a laugh, if it had come from anyone else. "No, I don't know where he lives," she said mockingly. "Though half the women in this bar probably do. Why don't you ask some of them?"

It figured that Beni would cheat on his wife with half the bar, though Rick still wondered if Beni even _had_ a wife. He could have made her up, just like he made up a lot of things. "Yeah, maybe I'll do that," said Rick, remembering Gloria. Had _she_ gone home with the likes of Beni?

"Well, if you'll excuse me, Rick," said Meela. "I have a kingdom to run." She slid off her bar stool and strode away, looking as haughty and graceful as the statues that decorated the bar. People looked at her with respect as she passed them by, though some of them looked as if they feared her rather than admired her, and at last she disappeared into the smoky air like an ancient Egyptian ghost.

Rick finished his whiskey and wondered if he should stick around, just in case Beni decided to show his face. He had thought about killing Beni if he saw him again, just to make sure that he never tricked anyone again, but Rick knew he wasn't a cold-blooded killer. And Beni _had_ been his friend, in a way. No, if Rick and Beni came face-to-face then Rick would teach him a lesson, one that would hopefully stick for a week or two, knowing Beni.

"I ain't doing it if Burns is droppin' out, Henderson. I've told you that already."

"You _know_ why Burns is droppin' out, Daniels. He's got his other job now, and a job like _that_ is gonna save our asses one of these days. Just watch."

"That don't change the fact that there's just two of us now. I ain't no coward, but there's strength in numbers when dealing with these pricks."

Two men with loud voices, one light-haired and the other dark, came and sat down by Rick. They kept arguing about some job, going on about shipments and a lake, and the longer Rick listened the more he was tempted to butt into their conversation.

"You looking for another guy to do some work?" he finally asked.

Daniels, the dark-haired one, scowled at him. "I don't think that's any business of yours."

Henderson elbowed him in the rib. "We need another guy to help transport liquor. We're short of one fella these days."

"Transport liquor where?" asked Rick.

"_Here_, of course," said Daniels. "We drive to Lake Michigan to pick up the goods, then we drive it all back here."

"We gotta make sure the bootleggers don't cheat us, though," said Henderson. "And there's a chance of gettin' shot, of course. That's why it's safer with three of us instead of two."

"And you're willing to take anyone?" asked Rick.

"Anyone who promises not to rat on us."

Rick knew the risks of taking such a job, but he had taken bigger risks and survived them all. He longed for an excuse to carry a gun again, even if he never got to use it, and he held out his hand for Daniels and Henderson to shake. "Well I think you've found your man."


	6. Discomfort

Discomfort

"Evy, dear, why don't you cut your hair? I don't know how you manage with that mane of yours."

Evelyn looked at her cousin Margaret, whose blonde hair had been bobbed and curled the way current fashion dictated, and couldn't see herself chopping off the long dark hair she had gathered into a bun at the back of her head. Her father had always loved her hair. He said it reminded him of her mother, who always wore her hair long and wild when she rode on camel-back across the desert.

"My mane is fine, thank you," said Evelyn. She poured herself more tea and busied herself with stirring sugar into her cup, trying to hide how uncomfortable she still felt in this strange American house.

"Well at least let me take you to the movies, dear," said Margaret. "Gloria won't come, of course. She hates going anywhere with the family, but you and I can have a fine time of it by ourselves. Better than being shut up all day with those books of yours, isn't it?"

Evelyn offered her a tight smile. "Well, no harm ever came from reading a book."

"No harm ever came from seeing a movie either. Or cutting your hair, for that matter."

Evelyn held back a sigh and sipped her tea, reminding herself that Margaret meant well. Women like Margaret _always_ meant well, but they still made Evelyn feel like she was a cat trying to find common ground with a dog. Even when she was growing up she didn't spend much time with girls her age, preferring the company of scholars acquainted with her father who found her passion for history charming. She hadn't seen Margaret in five years, but it felt like more like fifty.

Sunlight streamed in through the wide windows of the parlor, highlighting the flocked wallpaper, and Evelyn had to admit that she enjoyed a break from London's fog. The fog carried too many memories, too many heartaches that would only weigh her down if she remained, and she knew that Jonathan had been right in suggesting a trip to far-off Chicago to see their cousins. Margaret poured more tea and dropped hints about movies, parties, and shows at the theater, then gave up and switched to a long description of the wedding she had planned for herself and Mr. Burns, a man that Evelyn had yet to meet.

"I know you would like him, Evy. It's a pity that he's so busy these days, or else I would invite him in for tea."

"And where will you live once you become Mrs. Burns?" Evelyn asked.

"Anywhere but here, thank God. We can't get rid of her fast enough." A new voice joined the conversation and Evelyn's spirits lifted as Freddie entered the parlor, clutching a hat in one hand.

"Hello, Freddie," said Evelyn. "We've made tea, if you'd like some."

"Actually, I've come to rescue you, dear Evy," said Freddie. "I'm just about ready to get the car started. Care to go for a drive?"

Evelyn glanced uneasily at Margaret, not wanting to admit how relieved she would be to escape her company, but Margaret laughed and patted Evelyn on the hand. "Of course she would, Freddie," said Margaret. "Anything to get her out of this stuffy old house. You'd love to go, wouldn't you, Evy?"

"Yes, of course," said Evelyn. "It _is_ getting stuffy in here."

"Off we go, then." Freddie helped Evelyn out of her seat and escorted her from the parlor, leaving Margaret to finish tea by herself. He was blonde like his sisters, though he had blue eyes instead of green, and he and Evelyn had a long tradition of rescuing each other from Margaret and Gloria. All of Evelyn's unease quickly melted away as Freddie led her out of the house, whistling to himself in an aimless manner that reminded her of Jonathan, and brought her to the gleaming car that waited outside.

Evelyn didn't love cars the way Freddie did, but anything was better than listening to Margaret go on about haircuts and weddings. "Where shall we drive off to this time?" she asked. "Another turn about the neighborhood?"

"I was thinking of someplace a little farther," said Freddie, opening the door for her. "Can't make a proper escape from Margaret if we stick around the neighborhood, can we?" He hopped into the driver's seat with obvious expertise and put on his hat, then started the engine and headed down the street, past rows of old houses and perfectly trimmed hedges.

Neither of them said anything for a good five minutes and Evelyn watched the scenery go by, content to sit and pretend that all was right in the world. Jonathan had been urging her to get out and about for months, to throw off the raincloud of mourning and try to live a normal life again, though she wished he would take his own advice. She knew he drank more than ever, but she didn't have the heart to stop him.

"I know this isn't the ideal holiday," Freddie said at last. "You'd rather be puttering about in the desert, I'm sure, but we _are_ happy to have you here. Or at least _I'm_ happy to have you here and so are my parents."

"Of course this is a fine holiday," said Evelyn. "I wouldn't have agreed to come if I planned to have a miserable time."

"And I don't intend for you to have a miserable time. But you'd tell me if you were unhappy, wouldn't you?"

"I'm perfectly happy, Freddie. Only, well... I'm afraid Gloria doesn't like me very much."

Freddie laughed. "Gloria doesn't like anyone. She never has."

"And Margaret is lovely," said Evelyn, growing bolder, "but I do wish she wasn't so... so _patronizing_. It makes me feel like a child or, or a backwards countrywoman."

"That's because Margaret is engaged. Women who are engaged always look down on everyone else. My Aunt Florence was unbearable when she married a pompous colonel several years ago."

"Well I think we'll all be happier once she's married at last. And if she tells me to cut my hair one more time, I just might be crazy enough to jump out a window."

"And Margaret might be crazy enough to cut your hair while you're asleep, so we'd better start hiding the scissors."

Evelyn wasn't familiar with the city, but she soon became aware that they had come much farther than the Miltons' neighborhood. "Where exactly are we going?"

"We're approaching the South Side," said Freddie. "But you've got nothing to worry about. There's rumored to be all sorts of riffraff in that part and I suppose it's true, but we're only stopping at the edge of it."

"And what's at the edge?"

"A charming little shop I'd like you to see. I think it'll cheer you up."

Evelyn had heard similar lines from Jonathan countless times and usually associated them with something ridiculous, but Freddie wasn't Jonathan and had never steered her wrong yet. She began to have her doubts, though, when he parked the car in front of a run-down, unsavory looking building and told her that they had arrived.

"Are you sure?" asked Evelyn, staring at the dirty windows and mildewed walls.

"Quite sure. You're with _me_, remember? You'll be perfectly safe, I promise."

Evelyn reluctantly followed Freddie into the run-down shop and tried to hide her disappointment. She had expected something interesting, or at least something unusual, but he taken her into a shop full of oriental rugs that had seen better days. There wasn't a single rug that didn't look second-hand and she had to admit that some of the designs _were_ beautiful, despite their poor appearance, but she was disappointed all the same.

"Freddie, I've never known you to play jokes on people," she said. "Jonathan would think it fun to take me to see some battered old rugs, but really, I expected better from you."

"Battered old rugs?" said Freddie, as if he could hardly believe his ears. "Now, Evy, why would I drive you all the way out here to see such a thing? I know you have no use for a shoddy carpet, unless it's two thousand years old."

Evelyn looked at him, her eyes suddenly brighter. "_Are_ any of these carpets two thousand years old?" she whispered.

"No, of course not," said Freddie. He led her over to a particularly threadbare rug, pretending to admire its pattern, then leaned in closer. "Would you believe me if I told you there's a bar under this floor?"

"A bar?" Evelyn echoed softly. "You mean, one of those illegal ones?"

"It's right under our feet."

"Well I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"It has _everything_ to do with anything. Why don't you and I slip out tonight—without telling dear Margaret, of course—and see what interesting things we can find down there?"

"Freddie, you know I don't drink."

"Ah, but you didn't let me finish," said Freddie, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "This is no ordinary bar. The place has been set up to look like _ancient Egypt_."


	7. Vexation

Vexation

"If you don't like being married, then why don't you get divorced?" asked Gloria.

She sat in the hotel bed, completely naked aside from Beni's jacket, which she had decided to wear for her own personal amusement, and smoked a cigarette through a long holder. Beni hadn't planned to sleep with her again, since she asked too many questions, but he could never turn down a woman who was willing to have him. Better than spending the evening with Roza, who only slept with him because she was needy and couldn't find another man.

"I want my jacket," said Beni. He was impatient to leave now that he was finished with her.

Gloria pulled it more closely against her body and smirked at him. "Not until you answer my question. If your wife is such a harpy, then why don't you divorce her?"

"She's Catholic," said Beni. "The Catholics do not believe in divorce."

"And what about you? Are _you_ Catholic?"

"Oh yes. I am also Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, and a lot of other faiths. Now take it off."

She continued to sit calmly with the cigarette in her hand, the very picture of indifference, and Beni supposed that was why he put up with her. She didn't overreact the way Roza did. "That's silly," said Gloria. "Nobody has more than one faith."

"I don't care what you think. I want my jacket."

"You'll get your jacket when I'm ready to give it to you."

Beni could easily tear the jacket from her body and give her a few bruises in the process, but he remembered that Gloria might know O'Connell, and any woman who might know O'Connell was worth keeping around. Beni never worried much about O'Connell, since he assumed that the dumb bastard would be rotting in jail for a long time, and he never gave much thought to what would happen when he _did_ get out of jail, but now he was wary and on his guard, just in case his old friend caught track of his whereabouts. He would have to be careful at Hamunaptra.

He scowled at Gloria, hating that satisfied smirk on her face. "I'm not going to stay here all night playing your games. Why don't you be a good girl and do what I tell you?"

"Maybe I'll give you your jacket if you ask me very, very nicely," said Gloria. "In Hungarian."

"How do you know I won't swear at you instead?"

"I _don't_ know, but that's just part of the fun, isn't it? Now say please."

Beni said the filthiest thing he could think of, taking pleasure in the fact that he could say whatever he wanted and Gloria would never know. He used to have that same pleasure with Roza, back when she barely knew any English, but she had learned too much for him to fool her anymore. Gloria put out her cigarette and slowly pulled off Beni's jacket, taking her time on purpose, then handed it to him with a smile that tempted him to climb on top of her again.

But he had had enough. Women like Gloria were only fun for a short amount of time, and then they got tiring.

"Did you know that you're the funniest person I've ever met?" Gloria asked as she sank beneath the bed sheets, covering herself with false modesty.

Beni checked to make sure that his flask was still in his jacket pocket, then took a long swig. "How am I funny?"

"Oh, I don't know. You're just so bad and hilarious all at once, and it's so delightfully different that I hate to let you go. Why don't you stay awhile? The room is ours until morning, you know."

Beni took another swig, hoping to drown out the sound of her voice. "You have got it all wrong. _You_ are the funny one."

He turned his back on her and left the hotel room, creeping down the halls until he reached a back entrance where he wouldn't be detected. It was bad enough that the city was crawling with gangsters that could send him to the bottom of Lake Michigan if they felt like it, and now he had O'Connell to worry about if the bastard was out of jail. Beni had tried coming up with a good lie to explain why he set him up three years ago, but he doubted O'Connell would buy any of his excuses. The man was as dumb as a rock, but he knew when someone had wronged him.

He arrived at his apartment, planning to scrounge through the cupboards for something to eat before going to Hamunaptra, and sighed when he found Roza sitting in a battered chair, smoking one of his cigarettes as she paged through a magazine. "What the hell are you doing with that?" he said, stalking towards her. "You don't even smoke."

"How do _you_ know?" said Roza. "You're always away."

"Give it here. I don't spend my money on cigarettes so you can waste them."

"I'm not wasting it. I'm smoking it." Roza blew a defiant puff of smoke into his face. "And since when is it _your_ money? I live here too."

"Roza, you know how hard I work," Beni whined. "I spent my evening breaking my back and putting my life in danger, and this is how you repay me?"

"Oh, poor Beni," Roza whined back. Keeping the cigarette in one hand, she stood up so that she could look into Beni's face with wide-eyed pity. "Poor hardworking Beni. It must be so exhausting to hide in the shadows and shoot someone." Suddenly she slapped him across the face. "But you didn't have any jobs tonight, you liar! You left your gun behind."

"Bitch." Beni hit her back and Roza's cigarette flew from her hand, landing dangerously close to the chair. Cursing at Beni, Roza scrambled to put out the cigarette and stomped on it before the furniture could catch fire. "See?" said Beni, laughing at her. "You wasted it."

"I'll just smoke another," said Roza.

"No you won't. I'll carry all of my cigarettes with me so you won't get them."

"I'll steal them when you're asleep then."

"Shut up."

Beni stomped away from her and into the tiny kitchen, not bothering to take off his hat and jacket. He was constantly tempted to pack up and leave Roza, which would serve her right for all the hell she put him through, but his need for safety always won out. It was too risky to leave her when she knew what he did for a living and who he worked for. She could make trouble for him if he walked out, trouble that he couldn't afford. He tried to eat something, but Roza had stolen his appetite and he stalked back out to the front room, where she had resumed her place on the chair with her magazine in her lap. She must have taken the magazine from a neighbor, since Beni would never buy her such useless trash, and she looked up as he crossed the room and headed for the door.

"Where are you going, my dear?" she said mockingly.

Beni stopped and scowled at her. "I'm going out."

"Yes, but where?"

"I don't have to tell you."

Roza took her magazine and flung it onto the floor, where it sat in a heap of crumpled pages. "You never spend time with me," she said with a pout. "You're always going out and I wait here all alone, waiting for you to come home to me, and then when you finally come home you go out again."

"Sure," Beni scoffed. "You just can't wait for me to come home. That's why you always give me such a warm welcome, isn't it?"

"I only give you trouble because I love you, my darling. Stay here with me tonight."

Beni thought she was ridiculous, sitting there with her magazine crumpled on the floor. She tried to look like the American women and imitated their clothes and hair, but that was all she was: a pathetic imitation. Beni saw the desperate slum girl that would never truly die and felt contempt for Roza, for she continued to remind him of everything he had left behind.

"You don't want me to spend time with you," he said. "You only want me to fuck you."

"Oh, Beni, don't be vulgar," said Roza, still pouting. She didn't have to move far in order to reach Beni, since the room was so cramped, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, looking up at him with parted lips and large, dark eyes. "How can you leave when I want you?"

"Get off me," said Beni.

Roza ignored him and pressed her face against his chest, but her body froze when she breathed in his scent. She looked back up at him, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, and she tried to slap him again but Beni caught her wrist. "How long have you been seeing another woman?" Roza demanded.

"Oh, like you really care," said Beni.

"I _do_ care. Who is she?"

"You're crazy. I don't have time for other women."

"Then why do I smell a woman's perfume on your jacket, you bastard?"

Beni wanted to strangle Gloria for putting his jacket on. "You're crazy," he repeated. "And I'm not going to stay here with a crazy woman." He shoved Roza away and tried to escape out the door, but he wasn't fast enough to escape the shoe she hurled at him. It struck him squarely in the back and he stood in the doorway cursing at her until the neighbors opened their doors and yelled at him to be quiet.

Beni slammed his apartment door, just to piss off the neighbors further, and hurried out of the building and into the night.


	8. Collision

Collision

Rick hadn't felt the familiar weight of a pistol since the failed bank robbery. The police confiscated his old gun three years ago, along with all the firearms stashed in his apartment, and he felt like his old self as he entered Hamunaptra with a pistol stashed into his shoulder holster, hidden from sight but ready to use if he needed it. Henderson had given him the gun a few hours ago, just before they made their run to Lake Michigan, and Rick didn't realize how much he missed carrying a gun until he held one once more. The speakeasy welcomed him with its usual sounds; the murmur of voices, the clink of glasses on tabletops, the exotic music from the desert, and Rick felt anonymous among the men and women whose sole aim was to amuse themselves.

He moved past dancing flappers with red lips and bright eyes, past a group of men playing a loud game of poker, and wondered if tonight would be the night he found the accented voice and skinny frame of his old partner. How many other people had Beni screwed over since Rick last saw him? How many false friendships had he thrown away? Rick could have sworn he saw something sneaking in the distant shadows, heading for some door in the back, but he blinked and it disappeared.

"O'Connell!"

"Over here, partner!"

Daniels and Henderson stood at the bar, looking drunk already, and waved Rick over with enough noise to drown out the desert music. Henderson slapped Rick on the back the moment he approached and pushed him down onto a bar stool, then proceeded to order him a cocktail from old Winston.

"You look like you need some loosenin' up, pal," said Daniels. "The job getting to you already?"

"Nah," said Rick. "The job's great."

"That supposed to be sarcastic or somethin'?"

"No, I was being honest."

Daniels looked at Rick with dark eyes, his face slightly flushed from drink. "Well it sounded like you were mouthin' off. Me and Henderson don't put up with fellas who mouth off, I can tell ya that right now."

"Daniels is only kiddin'," Henderson laughed, giving Rick another thump on the back. "He likes to scare the new fellas, just to see what kinda stuff they're made of."

"Is that what happened to your old partner?" said Rick. "Daniels scare him off?"

"Nah, Burns is a lawyer now," said Henderson. "A _crooked_ lawyer."

"But everyone thinks he's legit," said Daniels. "Even his perfect little fiancee thinks he's legit."

"Burns is the perfect man for the job 'cause he's got a clean record. Never been arrested in his life. But if me and Daniels ever get nabbed, all Burns has to do is work his lawyer magic and we're free to go."

Rick sipped his cocktail and figured it must be nice to have the law in your pocket. He could have fallen in with the right company years ago, the kind that had enough power to cheat and get away with it, but instead he wound up with a fellow drifter because Beni stirred a strange sort of pity within him. He was the most pathetic person Rick had ever met, with his thin face and sad looking eyes, and Rick had been through too many battles to turn his back on another human being. The war had taught him comradeship, but it never taught him that trust could go horribly awry.

"See those two broads out there?" said Henderson, giving Daniels a nudge. "The ones with the sparkly dresses out dancing by themselves?"

"Yeah, what about 'em?" said Daniels.

"Think we can get the two of 'em to leave with us?"

"Well I know_ I _sure as hell can. I don't know about you."

"We'll see you later, O'Connell," said Henderson, giving him one last drunken smile. "We got a little business matter to take care of."

Rick didn't protest and watched the two of them walk off, relieved that his new partners had found someone else to harass. Winston took this as his cue to stand around and bore him with long, rambling stories about his life as a pilot, and Rick felt ready to fall asleep until a new voice reached his ears, a voice that sounded out of place within the speakeasy's lawless walls.

"Why, this looks _authentic_. In fact, it all looks authentic."

A woman stood a few feet away, clutching the arm of a wealthy looking blonde man, and inspected a small statue of a bird-headed man that sat on the end of the counter. Leaving his cocktail behind, Rick got up from his seat and strode over to the woman, whose dark hair had been pinned behind her head in a sensible knot. Her clothes were just as sensible as her hair, making her stand out from all the sparkling flappers, and she was so absorbed in the statue that she didn't appear to see Rick.

"Don't be fooled, lady," said Rick. "That's bound to be a fake."

The woman turned to him with a surprisingly pretty face, a challenge in her eyes. "And how do you know that, sir? Are you an Egyptologist?"

"No," said Rick. "But I know a lot about phony goods."

"Well, there's no disputing that, now is there, Evy?" said the man at her side.

The woman called Evy ignored him and picked up the small statue, peering at it carefully with narrowed eyes. Rick couldn't believe her boldness.

"Hey, are you sure you should be touching that eagle guy?"

"Falcon," she corrected. "He has the head of a falcon, not an eagle. His name is Horus and he's a god of ancient Egypt."

"Are _you_ an Egyptologist?" Rick asked.

"She wishes she was," said Evy's companion. "And she would be if I had my way. Half the old fogies who call themselves scholars don't know nearly as much as Evy does, and they haven't got an ounce of her passion."

Evy finally put the statue down, though she continued to inspect the strange falcon's head set on top of the man's body. "Well, it certainly doesn't _look_ like a fake, Freddie. Do you have any idea who's in charge of this place?"

"I do," Rick spoke up. "Uh, there's this broad— er, lady, I mean, who thinks she's an Egyptian princess or something. She might know something about that statue."

"You aren't telling tales about _me_, are you, Rick?" Meela's voice was soft but dangerous as she glided up to the group, dressed in the same costume she had worn the last time Rick saw her. Her eyes glittered with a harsh sort of amusement. "I'm glad you're here. There's somebody I want you to meet."

"Uh, sure," said Rick. He had forgotten what a forceful presence she had, but now it hit him like an unexpected knock on the head. "Lead the way."

"Rick and I will be leaving now," said Meela, giving Evy and Freddie a tight-lipped smile. She stepped closer to Evy, still wearing her smile, and spoke in a soft yet powerful voice. "And please, dear, _try_ not to touch anything that isn't yours."

Evy frowned but said nothing, gazing back at Meela with the same quiet intensity.

"Let's go, Rick." Meela stepped away from Evy and took Rick by the arm, leading him off towards the back of the speakeasy with the same forceful elegance that dictated all of her moves. Rick glanced back at Evy, longing to know what a woman like her was doing in Hamunaptra, but she and Freddie drifted away without seeing him.

"So who am I meeting?" asked Rick.

"Somebody that you've been wanting to see," said Meela.

"And that would be...?"

"Beni, of course," said Meela. "Who else would it be?"

"You found Beni?"

"_I _didn't find him. The little rat found me. He came over to whine and complain, which is what he usually does, and he's currently in my office drinking some wine imported from Egypt." Meela smirked. "He thinks I'm coming back without my clothes."

"That's what you told him?"

Meela's laughter was just as dangerous as the rest of her. "I didn't tell him outright. But I gave him that impression, and now he's relaxed his guard. I don't know what you want with Beni and I don't particularly care, but I've been waiting for the chance to bring him down a peg or two."

"And sending me in your place is gonna do that?" Rick asked skeptically.

"He's been trying to sleep with me for months. He'll be furious."

Meela released Rick's arm and opened a door at the back of the speakeasy, which opened up onto a brief passageway that led to a second door. She pulled out a key and unlocked this second door, but didn't open it and looked meaningfully at Rick, intending him to enter by himself.

"Wish me luck," Rick muttered.

Meela smirked and sauntered away, leaving Rick to turn the doorknob and enter the office.

Under different circumstances he might have to stopped to look at the fancy furniture, elegant tapestries, and Egyptian artifacts that decorated Meela's office, but his attention was fixed on the man who lounged behind a desk with a wineglass in his hand. The moment Beni saw Rick he let out a squeak and dropped his glass, spilling wine all over the expensive carpet.

"O'Connell!" he cried. His eyes roved around, searching for an exit, but there weren't any windows. "How wonderful it is to see you again. I hope that jail was not too horrible."

Rick shut the door behind him and stepped towards the desk, his pistol clutched in one hand. He had waited three long years for this moment, but as he gazed at Beni's cowering form and listened to his desperate whine, he wanted nothing more than to get it over with and put it behind him at last.

"Well if it ain't my little buddy Beni," said Rick, looking into those wide, treacherous eyes.

He aimed at Beni and pulled the trigger.


	9. Curiosity

Curiosity

Roza hadn't seen her husband in twenty-four hours.

He never came home after their latest argument and Roza had been too upset to look for him, but as the hours dragged on she began to wonder if something was wrong. Beni always returned to the apartment sooner or later and he couldn't be _too_ angry with her, since the fight had been mild compared to most arguments, and Roza could only think of two reasons why Beni would fail to come home for an entire day and night: he had either been killed or he was spending the night with another woman.

Roza frowned as she crept down the dark street, remembering the strange perfume on Beni's jacket. She had always felt secure, thinking that no one else would want Beni, but of course America was filled with the strangest people who would do anything just for the sake of it. She shivered in the late night air, cursing under her breath at the noisy car that swerved dangerously close as it rumbled past, and kept her eyes open for the shop she was seeking. She had no idea where Beni might have gone, but she did know of one place where someone might be able to tell her.

Beni thought she was too stupid to understand his business. He used to come home bragging about Hamunaptra and the powerful gang that had hired him to eliminate troublemakers, and Roza had secretly followed him to Hamunaptra on more than one occasion to see what he did when he wasn't with her. As she drew closer to the shop her footsteps became faster, and she didn't think that Beni was dead, wherever he was. He had probably gone back to his other woman, just to spite Roza, and Roza wouldn't rest until she found out who had dared to snatch her husband away.

Beni was a bad man, but he was _her_ bad man, and Roza never let go of something once it was hers.

The man behind the counter leered at her as she entered the rug shop. "And what can I help you with, my dear?"

Roza met his gaze boldly. "I want to see rugs from Se- Seti's Palace," she said in awkward English.

"Ah, of course, of course. Right this way." The shopkeeper took her to the basement and tried to brush his hand against one of her breasts as she headed through the door, but Roza swore at him in Hungarian and swatted him away.

She almost forgot Beni when she entered the speakeasy and gazed at the men and women with a fierce envy that ate away inside her. She wished she was one of those glamorous American women who sat with such carefree ease, smoking through their long cigarette holders and drinking from their cocktail glasses. She wished she spoke perfect English and knew how to do all the wild, popular dances. She wished she lived in a fancy apartment with a radio and a phonograph and more clothes than she knew what to do with. Roza sighed, knowing she would always be a poor woman from Budapest no matter how hard she wished, and approached the bar in hopes of gaining some news.

"I look for Beni Gabor," she told the old bartender.

"What was that, dear?" said the old man, leaning towards her. "My hearing isn't what it used to be."

"Beni," Roza said, raising her voice. "Beni Gabor. I look for him."

"Can't say that I've heard of him, I'm afraid."

"What do you want with Beni?" said the woman who stood behind the bar counter.

She stood off to the side, watching everything with the statue-like calmness of a cat, and Roza didn't even notice her until she spoke. "You know Beni?" Roza asked, studying the woman with suspicious eyes. She was strange but beautiful, dressed like the Egyptian figurines that decorated the bar.

"Yes, I know Beni," said the woman. "What do you want with him?"

"I am his wife," said Roza. "_You whore_," she added in Hungarian. Perhaps this was the woman who had gotten her perfume on Beni's jacket.

"His wife," the woman echoed, gazing at Roza with sudden interest. "How thoughtful of you to come looking for your dear husband at this time of night. I'm sorry that he isn't here."

"You know where I find him?"

"I don't think he wants to be found right now." The woman smirked at Roza and sauntered off, looking infuriatingly calm as she did so.

"_I'll find out where you live, you slut!_" Roza yelled in Hungarian.

"I beg your pardon?"

Suddenly self-conscious, Roza turned away from the strange woman and looked up at the man who stood beside her. His suit looked more expensive than the ones Beni wore, though he didn't wear a hat like most men did, and he looked down at her with kind blue eyes. "Nothing," said Roza, embarrassed. "I say nothing."

"What a curious sounding language that was," said the man. "Where are you from, love?"

"Hungary," said Roza.

"Hungary! That's a bloody long way off. It seems that we're both strangers in this strange land of Prohibition, and I think that calls for a round of drinks."

The stranger introduced himself as Jonathan and Roza knew she could pick his pocket easily enough, since he looked like he had consumed a drink or two already. He ordered her a cocktail like the ones she had admired when she first entered the bar, and Roza hardly knew what to say in Hungarian, let alone English, as he handed her the glass with a charming smile. Nobody had ever bought her a drink before.

"Th-thank you," Roza stammered.

"Oh, no trouble, love," said Jonathan. His eyes rested on her hands, noticing the absence of a wedding ring, and his smile grew warmer. "Now what's a nice girl like you doing here all alone, hm?"

Roza wanted to laugh at being called a "nice girl." She had done things that would horrify him. "You think I am nice?" she asked playfully.

"You're a good deal nicer than most of these American girls, I can tell you that. They're all dreadfully fast, the whole lot of them."

"Fast?" said Roza, frowning. "They run fast? Walk fast?"

"No, no," Jonathan said with a chuckle. "They're a bit wild, I suppose. That's what I mean."

"Oh," said Roza, embarrassed again.

"Never mind that. Drink up, uh— Good Lord, I never asked your name, now did I?"

"Roza," she said.

"Roza," Jonathan repeated. Beni made her name sound like a curse, but Jonathan made it sound like music. "Well, Roza, drink up and tell me more about yourself. How long have you been in America?"

Roza told him that she came to America three years ago, though she didn't mention that she was married, and she let him think that she had left Hungary to escape poverty. Which was partially true, since she wasn't going to let Beni leave her in Budapest all alone with nothing to live on, and there was no way in hell she would return to her controlling older brothers. They were the ones who insisted she marry Beni in the first place.

Jonathan bought more drinks and did most of the talking, telling Roza all about his sister and three cousins he was currently staying with. Roza didn't understand everything he said, especially when he used such strange words that the Americans never used, but she liked listening to the pleasant sound of his voice and felt strangely happy after drinking a couple of cocktails. She leaned close to Jonathan, forcing back the temptation to steal his wallet, and spoke in the soft, needy voice she always used on Beni when she wanted him to be nice to her.

"I live close," she said in Jonathan's ear. "You walk me home?"

"Tempting idea," said Jonathan. "_Very_ tempting."

"Then do it."

"Well... my sister and cousin are both here, but of course Freddie's the one driving. He'll get Evy home safely, I suppose." Jonathan hesitated a few moments longer, glancing repeatedly into Roza's wide brown eyes, then shook his head and took her by the arm. "Oh, what the hell. I won't be missed."

Roza felt a slight twinge of guilt as she let Jonathan lead her away, but it soon disappeared when the warmth of Jonathan's arm settled around her shoulders. If Beni could have fun with somebody else, then why couldn't Roza do the same? It served Beni right for running off and spending the night with another woman, which was undoubtedly what he had done, and for the moment Roza didn't care if he never came back home. Jonathan treated her like no man had ever treated her before and she eagerly tugged him into her apartment, flushed with an unfamiliar giddiness that she never felt with Beni.

"Do you live here by yourself?" Jonathan asked, peering around at the shabby apartment.

"Ah, no," said Roza. "My... brother live here too. He is out."

"Oh." Jonathan shuffled his feet, looked down at Roza, and cleared his throat. "Well, I'll uh, just be off then. You have a good night."

"Wait." Roza caught him by the arm, hating to let him go so soon. "You stay?" she pleaded. "I am very lonely."

"Well, I don't know if that would be proper, love. What if your brother returns?"

"He won't."

"You're sure?"

Beni was welcome to walk in on them for all Roza cared, but she nodded her head and tugged Jonathan in the direction of her bedroom. He murmured feeble protests along the way, throwing out stammered excuses that carried no weight, and at last Roza kissed him in the bedroom doorway, desperate and eager for something she had always been denied.

"Well, that settles it, then," Jonathan said softly, and he carried her to the bed.


	10. Aftermath

Aftermath

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You know you deserved it."

"How would you know?" said Beni, scowling at Meela from his position on the couch. "You don't know anything about it."

"I know that you're a treacherous little snake," said Meela. "And I wouldn't bother helping you if you weren't so good at your job."

"I am good at other things besides my job. Why don't you come over here and I will show you?"

Meela turned her back on him without responding and strode out of the room, her heels clacking on the expensive floor tiles. Beni whined a few Hungarian curses as the pain in his shoulder flared up and he grabbed the bottle of brandy he had been drinking since yesterday, only to find that it was empty. "MEELA!" he yelled.

She didn't respond.

Beni cursed again and tossed the empty bottle onto the couch, where it landed among the blankets that covered his lower body. He sat propped up on the living room couch in Meela's lavish apartment, recovering from a gunshot wound in his shoulder. He didn't know why O'Connell shot him in the shoulder instead of the chest, but it hurt like hell and Meela was a lousy nurse who didn't understand how much he was suffering. Even Roza would have taken better care of him.

"MEELA!" he yelled again.

She reappeared, an icy expression on her face as she entered the living room in her plain black dress and her matching black heels. She always wore black when she wasn't playing make-believe and calling herself Anck-Su-Namun, though Beni would have preferred it if she wore nothing at all. "What is it?" asked Meela, standing beside his makeshift bed.

"I want more brandy," said Beni.

"You were shot in the shoulder, not the leg. You can walk to the kitchen and get it yourself."

"But I am in pain," Beni whined. "It hurts to move."

"You're pathetic," said Meela. "And you've overstayed your welcome. Go home to your wife and let _her_ deal with your problems."

Beni started to laugh, but it made the pain in his shoulder worse. "You know nothing about my wife," he said mockingly.

"I know that you should go crawling back to her," said Meela. "She came looking for you last night."

Beni froze. "Came where?"

"Hamunaptra."

"Oh, _God_," Beni groaned. "What the hell did she want?"

"She wanted to know where you were," said Meela. "The last thing I need is a pair of Hungarian lowlifes screaming at each other in my apartment, so I told her nothing."

Beni half-wished that Roza had come to take him away last night, even though she would have nagged him incessantly for getting shot. He was finally alone with Meela in her apartment and all the pity in the world couldn't get her to put out, no matter how much he reminded her that he could have been killed, and he didn't have the strength to overpower her when his shoulder was killing him. He would have been happy with seeing her naked at least, but she wouldn't give him that either, and when he purposely dropped his breakfast fork on the floor she didn't even have the decency to bend over when she picked it up.

"Who cares if Roza and I scream at each other in your apartment?" said Beni. "She would have taken me off your hands. You obviously don't want me here."

"I don't," Meela agreed. "But I'm not stupid enough to leave you bleeding in my office or let you wander your way home. I might have cops on my payroll, but there are plenty of policemen who wouldn't turn a blind eye if they saw a man with a bullet wound in his shoulder."

"And now that you have hidden me from the cops and avoided my nagging wife, you want to get rid of me," Beni complained. "Even though I am in too much pain to move."

"You can move perfectly fine. You took a piss just an hour ago."

"How do you know that?" Beni said with a grin. "Did you watch me?"

"Of course not."

"But you wish you did."

Meela smirked. "Do you really think you have anything worth seeing? Or are you forgetting that I've been with Imhotep?"

"Oh, Imhotep," Beni snorted. "You haven't seen him for months. Is the bastard still in Egypt?"

"He's still working on business there," Meela said coldly, her face like ice once more.

"Or maybe he has left you for another woman. One who is not such a pain in the ass."

"I think you need to leave," said Meela. "And don't give me that bullshit about being in too much pain. You're far from crippled."

Beni made no effort to move from the couch and frowned at Meela. "I still want more brandy."

"Get your own brandy. I'm not your servant."

"You let me into your home. I expect some hospitality."

"You've gotten enough hospitality, Beni. More than you deserve."

Meela walked off for the second time, not even bothering to check if Beni's bandage needed changed. Beni lost his temper and threw the empty brandy bottle at her, but he missed and it shattered on the floor, scattering broken glass everywhere.

"You're cleaning that up!" Meela called out to him.

"No, I'm not!" Beni yelled back.

He settled back against the couch pillows, careful not to dislodge the bandage on his shoulder, and wondered what he had done to deserve such torture. Aside from set up O'Connell, of course, but he couldn't be blamed for _that_. He needed easy money and robbing a bank was too risky, so naturally turning his partner over to the cops in exchange for a bribe was the best option, though the bribe money didn't last as long as he thought it would. Roza wouldn't stop bitching about the wedding ring she wanted and Beni bought her some clothes to shut her up, and then he spent the rest of it on cocktails and hookers to escape Roza's nagging.

He dreaded the thought of going home. Roza would either be angry enough to throw him out or needy enough to jump him the moment he walked in the door, and Beni didn't look forward to either option. Either way she was bound to make his pain worse.

And then there was O'Connell. O'Connell had left him alive for a reason and there was no telling when he would find Beni again, or whether or not he would finish him off. Beni would have to find out O'Connell's whereabouts and finish _him_ off first, before O'Connell made his life even more of a living hell. Or worse.

He really needed a drink.

"MEELA!" he yelled yet again. "I'M DYING!"

"You'll _really_ be dying if you don't shut your mouth!" she called from the next room.

Beni swore at her and got off the couch, kicking the blankets onto the floor in his frustration. He narrowly avoided the broken glass on the floor and kept one hand on his wounded shoulder as he walked to the kitchen, feeling like somebody was poking him with a needle repeatedly. He found Meela seated at the kitchen table, one leg crossed over the other as she coolly sipped from a newly-opened bottle of brandy.

"That is mine," Beni grumbled.

"I don't remember you buying it," said Meela. "And I thought I told you to leave."

"You won't make me leave," Beni scoffed. "You are lonely because Imhotep has left you."

"Imhotep is away on business," Meela corrected. "And I don't get lonely."

"Whatever you say." Beni drew closer to the table and snatched the brandy with his good arm, laughing at Meela's angry protests, then proceeded to take a long swig.

Meela sat like a statue and watched him with dark eyes. "Give it back."

"You don't need it," Beni whined. "_I'm_ the one who's badly hurt."

"You act like you've lost a limb. Why don't you be a man and stop acting like a baby?"

Beni ignored her and continued to drink, letting the alcohol burn down and spread its warmth to his injured shoulder. Satisfied, he set the bottle on the table and smirked at Meela, who continued to watch him with the quietly smoldering anger that amused him the most. She thought she was so tough, just because she ran a speakeasy and dressed in black outside of work. "If I wasn't injured, I would have you begging for me right now," he told Meela.

"Would you really?" said Meela. "And how would you plan to do that?"

"I would not need a plan. I bet it has been months since you've had a man in your bed."

"My private life is none of your business."

"Ha," said Beni. "It _has_ been months, hasn't it? You've been cruel to me all day because you haven't been laid in so long."

"That isn't true," said Meela, though her elegant hands were clenched into fists beneath the table. "And I'm not going to take your little hints and sleep with you. But if you leave my apartment in the next five minutes, I _will_ let you kiss me."

Beni eyed her suspiciously. "You will have to let me do a little more than that if you want me to leave."

"Fine," Meela agreed. "A _little_ bit more. But first I want a drink."

Beni couldn't believe his good luck as Meela reached for the brandy bottle and put it to her lips. Even his shoulder wound didn't feel so bad anymore. "I knew you would give in eventually, you know," he said smugly. "I can get any woman to give in."

Meela sipped the brandy and raised an eyebrow at him. "That's impressive."

"It is not impressive at all," said Beni. "It is easy."

"I can imagine why," said Meela. She took another sip of brandy, then splashed the rest of it in Beni's face. "Now get out."


	11. Hospitality

Hospitality

Gloria finished the last touches on her lipstick, gazing into her vanity mirror as she painted a perfect Cupid's bow on her upper lip. She hadn't been to Hamunaptra since the last time she slept with Beni, when she teased him by wearing his jacket, and she longed for the carefree lawlessness of the speakeasy. Maybe she would see Beni again and coax him into teaching her to swear in Hungarian, so she could tell Margaret all sorts of horrible things and get away with it. She was hopeless with languages except for the swear words, and she was certain that Beni knew some truly awful ones.

She put away her lipstick and rose from her vanity table, admiring the dress she had chosen for her night out. Though she doubted she would spend much time actually _wearing _the dress if she encountered Beni that night. Gloria smirked at her reflection, pleased with what she saw, and left her bedroom so she could sneak down the halls and hopefully avoid her siblings and cousins on her way out the door. Freddie would never stop her, of course, since he claimed that she was bound to ruin herself no matter what anyone said, but Margaret was always telling her that she would never get married if she insisted on running about at night. Margaret thought that _everyone_ ought to get married, for the good of society or some such nonsense.

Charlotte, the housemaid, met her on the stairs with a grim expression on her face. "There's a man here to see you."

"A man?" Gloria echoed innocently. "How unusual. Is he waiting in the parlor?"

"No," Charlotte said with obvious disgust. "I wouldn't let him into the house. He's waiting out on the doorstep."

"Well thank you, Charlotte. _I_ will take care of the rest of this matter."

Gloria swept past the housemaid and approached the front door, suddenly aware of the house's dead silence. Her parents and Margaret must have retired for the evening, since they were the early risers of the family, and everyone else must have gone out. Gloria tugged open the door and nearly laughed when she saw the man who stood on the doorstep, looking back at her with a pitiful expression on his scrawny face.

"Now isn't _this_ a pleasant surprise," said Gloria. "Just the man I've been wanting to see."

"Let me in," said Beni.

"And why should I do that?"

"Because you wrote down your address and put it in my jacket pocket," said Beni, showing her a slip of paper.

"Oh, that," said Gloria. "I just did that for a bit of fun. I wanted to see if you had the nerve to actually do it, and you did. Congratulations."

"You are more heartless than that maid of yours," Beni whined, looking at her with desperate eyes. "How can you turn me from your door when I am wounded and have no place to go? What if I die here on your doorstep?"

Gloria had never seen Beni look so pathetic before, though she found it more amusing than anything else. "What a pity," she said. "The big bad assassin has come begging to his mistress. Don't you have a home and a wife to go to?"

"She is not a proper wife," said Beni. "I break my back providing for her and she throws things at me the moment I walk in the door! Who the hell throws things at a dying man?"

Gloria remained in the doorway, her lips pressed into a smirk. "You don't look like you're dying."

"Oh really?" Beni pulled open his jacket and showed her the blood-stained bandage that covered his shoulder. "I was shot. Now let me inside."

"Oh, you poor helpless darling."

"Don't call me darling," Beni said with a glare. "That is what Roza says and it's annoying as hell."

"Well, I can't allow a dying man to be annoyed," said Gloria, stepping aside to let Beni through the doorway. "Let's go into the study. Nobody will hear us in there."

As she took Beni through the house, she noticed him looking around with obvious greed in his eyes, letting his gaze linger on the ornate furniture, fine paintings, and fancy vases as if he would dearly love to load everything into a truck and drive off with it. It would be terribly amusing if he _did_ rob them blind, especially when they didn't use half the items in the house anyway. Most of the family belongings were relics from England, put on useless display to prove that the Miltons came from good breeding, and Gloria's parents would have a fit if they knew that a poor foreigner was tracking dirt on the spotless rugs and staring unabashedly at the decor.

"I did not know you came from money," said Beni.

"I suppose I do," said Gloria.

Beni snorted. "Of course rich people don't even realize that they are rich. They don't care either."

"Well, of course not. Why care when you have no reason to?" Gloria reached the dark study and turned on a single lamp, so that the room remained dim about the edges. Beni entered slowly, drinking in the rich leather and mahogany that decorated the study, and looked so comically out of place that Gloria wished she could keep him there permanently, just to give her a good laugh when she needed one.

"What are you looking at?" Beni demanded.

"At you, of course," said Gloria. "It must be so interesting to be poor."

"Only a bored rich girl would say that. You all think that there's something noble about being poor, but it is nothing but hell all the time."

Gloria sank down onto the leather sofa and got on her back, stretching herself out so that she filled its entire length, and dug into her handbag for a cigarette. "Well don't just stand there," she told Beni, looking up at him. "There are plenty of seats in here."

"You are already in the seat that I want," said Beni.

"I don't feel like moving."

"You don't have to. There is plenty of room for me if you move your legs apart."

Glora laughed as she lit her cigarette. "I thought you were dying."

"I was shot in the shoulder," said Beni. "The important parts of me have not been harmed."

"Well I don't want you to touch me until we've talked a while. Tell me how you got shot."

"Oh, please," Beni scoffed. "You don't want to hear about that. Women hate hearing about violence."

"I'm not like other women. Now have a seat and tell me the story."

Beni sighed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders and trudged over to a chair. He looked fidgety as he sat on it, unused to his surroundings, and kept glancing at the silver candlesticks that stood on the nearby fireplace mantel. "I went to Hamunaptra, sat down with a glass of wine, and got shot," he said with an obnoxious little smirk. "That is the end of the story."

Gloria breathed a lazy puff of smoke towards the ceiling. "That's no good at all."

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"Keep quiet, then, if it pleases you." Gloria watched Beni's face, noticing that he glanced towards the mantelpiece again. "You really like those candlesticks, don't you?"

Beni looked more fidgety than before, looking at her with suspicious eyes. "And what if I do?"

"Would you like me to give them to you?"

"You wouldn't do that."

"Oh, but I would. Nobody uses those things anyway."

"Maybe I don't want you to give them to me," Beni said stubbornly.

"Then grab them instead if it makes you happy. I won't stop you."

Beni hesitated, looking about the room as if expecting a horde of policemen to come bursting through the door, then took a few steps to the mantelpiece and grabbed the candlesticks so he could stuff them into his jacket pockets. Gloria continued to lie on the sofa with the cigarette in her hand, taking the occasional drag while Beni stood before the fireplace and watched her.

"I'm hungry," he said.

"Go to the kitchen and find something, then," said Gloria. "You have my special permission to raid our pantry."

"It will taste better if I have _you_ first. Put out that cigarette and pull up your dress."

"You're dreadfully bossy. Did you know that?"

"And yet you always do as I say."

Gloria put out her cigarette and flicked the butt onto the rug, knowing her father would blame Freddie for it the next morning. "I don't do as you say," she told Beni. "We just happen to want the same things."

"Well I want to screw you on that expensive sofa," said Beni.

Gloria ran her hand over the leather, knowing how much pride her father took in the stuffy English furniture he inherited from his grandfather, and felt a wonderful thrill run up her spine. "Then stop talking and do it."


	12. Reunion

Reunion

"Freddie, I'm a little worried about Jonathan. He seems a bit... odd. More than usual, I mean."

"Well, there are only two reasons for a man to act odd, Evy," Freddie said as they entered Hamunaptra together. He raised his voice to be heard over the desert instruments and high-pitched laughter. "He's either in trouble with money or has his eye on a woman."

"There are more reasons than that," Evelyn insisted.

"Oh, no. It's either money or women, I guarantee it. Men are simple creatures, Evy, and they all tend to fall into the same traps if they're not careful."

"Well which trap do you think Jonathan has fallen into?"

Freddie steered her to a table near the back, where a group of men wearing turbans played their instruments on the floor, and absently tossed a coin at the flute player. "You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out. It can't be money, since you and Jonathan have only been here a couple of weeks and are living on my family's hospitality. Besides, men with money troubles develop a desperate sort of nervousness that gives them away immediately. You can see it right in their faces."

"And you don't see it in Jonathan's face?"

"On the contrary, my dear. It seems to me like Jonathan is eager to _spend_ money, not regain it. And a man who's eager to spend money has only got one thing on his mind. Our Jonathan has undoubtedly met some lovely, fast-talking young lady who smokes too many cigarettes and has enough gold jewelry to keep his interest. And he's probably fed her a dozen wild stories about himself to keep _her_ interested. It's all quite predictable, really."

Evelyn was always somewhat bewildered by Freddie's self-assured claims about the people he knew. Margaret said that Freddie wasn't nearly as wise as he pretended to be and tried to live his life like he was a character in an Oscar Wilde play, but Evelyn had learned not to trust Margaret's judgment.

"Jonathan never mentioned any women," she said, frowning thoughtfully at the scarab beetles carved on the tabletop.

"He doesn't need to. Where else could he have gone the night he disappeared on us?"

"It isn't my business, really, and Jonathan has always done as he pleased, but don't you think it's unwise if he _has_ found someone that he, well... fancies, as they say? We're returning to London in a month."

Freddie signaled for a waiter to bring them drinks and looked back into Evelyn's face, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "And that's where your grave misunderstanding about men comes in. This girl of Jonathan's could dance right out of his life in a week. A couple of days, even. And chances are that he won't mind it a bit."

"That sounds rather harsh, Freddie."

"Oh, all reality is harsh," Freddie said breezily. "And without harshness you wouldn't have reality. What I'm trying to say is that girls come and go and most blokes can try out fifty of them before they find one that fits."

"That certainly _does_ sound like Jonathan. He's never been able to settle on anything."

"The true makings of an eternal bachelor."

The waiter came by and took their orders—a cocktail for Freddie and a glass of orange juice for Evelyn—and Evelyn returned her attention to the scarabs carved on the table, tracing one of them with a finger. "Father was always fascinated by scarab beetles," she remarked quietly. "He said there was more to them than met the eye."

"We would have all loved to have seen Uncle Edward one last time," said Freddie. "He always told the most marvelous stories about Egypt."

"He did," Evelyn echoed.

"I've still got that old bit of Egyptian paper he gave me when I was ten. What do you call that stuff again? Not parchment, but something else."

"Papyrus," said Evelyn.

"That's it! Papyrus. I've still got it somewhere, along with all the other knick-knacks I brought from England. Wouldn't throw it away for the world."

Evelyn fell silent as the waiter brought them their drinks and listened to the music, thinking of the desert that was in her blood. She had always intended to go to Egypt, ever since she was a child, but her father had been ill for the last few years and she spent her time nursing him, trying to coax him back into full health. He passed on a few months before and Evelyn had no desire to pack up and go anywhere, let alone Egypt, until Jonathan became so worried about her that he insisted they visit Chicago.

Freddie noticed the shift in her mood and changed the subject. "Did you know that you're the easiest customer in this place?"

"And why's that?" asked Evelyn.

"Why, you take your orange juice without vodka in it. You don't complain about the quality of the gin. You're perfectly content if nobody asks you to dance. If you stick around long enough to become a regular, these people will adore you, mark my words."

"I don't think the proprietress is ready to adore me. She would rather mummify me alive, I imagine."

"You don't need to be bothered with women like that. They aren't worth knowing." Freddie raised his cocktail glass to his lips, intending to take a sip, but lowered it as something caught his eye across the bar. "Oh, look. It's your friend Mr. O'Connell over there."

"Freddie, I hardly know the man," said Evelyn.

"Last time we were in here, you spent twenty minutes telling him about canopic jars."

"I'm sure it wasn't twenty minutes."

"And I'm quite certain that it was. Think he's interested in another history lesson?"

Freddie waved O'Connell over, much to Evelyn's dismay, and shot her a triumphant grin when O'Connell strode over to their table and joined them with a half-finished drink in his hand. "Let me guess," said O'Connell. "You wanna tell me about mummies this time."

"I'm afraid I was out of line the last time we spoke, Mr. O'Connell," Evelyn apologized. "I didn't mean to bore you."

"Hey, who said I was bored?" said O'Connell. "I learned more about jars than I ever needed to know."

Evelyn couldn't decide if she liked O'Connell or not. He seemed so brash sometimes, as if he never bothered to think before he spoke, and he took up so much space, sitting with his elbows on the table with no regard for manners, and yet she found him interesting. He wasn't like the other American men, who were so wrapped up in themselves it was a miracle they could see three feet in front of them, and he didn't pretend to be something he wasn't.

"Well, Mr. O'Connell—"

"You can call me Rick, ya know," he interrupted.

"Mr. O'Connell," Evelyn continued stubbornly, "I believe you've heard enough from me already. Why don't we hear about you for a change? What do you do for a living?"

"I, uh, drive a truck," said O'Connell. "Making deliveries to... to grocers."

"You're probably the most respectable man in the room, then," said Freddie.

O'Connell laughed uncomfortably. "Enough about me. What about those mummies?"

"I'm sure you don't want to hear about that," said Evelyn.

"Yeah, I think I do. How many bandages does it take to wrap those guys, anyway?"

"Well the bandages don't come in until much later. First they have to remove your brain and all of your organs, and then they..." Evelyn trailed off. "Who exactly _is_ that woman?"

O'Connell followed her gaze. "Oh. That's Meela. She runs the joint."

"I know that, but where does she come from? Has she been to Egypt?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, lady."

Meela strode through the bar, drawing everyone's attention as her golden jewelry sparkled beneath the few lights scattered around, and Evelyn felt like a piece of the distant past had come back to life. Meela was no ordinary woman playing dress-up, that was certain. "Do you think she knows where all the decorations come from?" Evelyn asked. "She must know, if she runs this place."

"You want me to ask her?" asked O'Connell.

"No." Evelyn looked at Freddie, telling him everything he needed to know without words. "I want to find out for myself."


	13. Secret

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, Chapters 11, 12, and 13 take place on the same night.

* * *

Secret

"Now repeat after me, love. I _am going_ to the bar."

"I am going to the bar," said Roza, shaping the English words slowly.

"Good, good. And what do you say to the bartender?"

"I have—"

"I _will_ have," Jonathan corrected patiently. "Mustn't forget the _will_, my dear."

"I will have, uh... a drink."

"Ah, but what kind of drink?"

Roza didn't know the names of all the fancy drinks they served in American bars. She never ordered one when she visited Hamunaptra, since she had to keep hidden while spying on Beni, and Beni never bothered to share this information with her. He liked seeing her struggle in a foreign country, though she understood more English than he thought she did, even if she couldn't speak it well.

"Vodka?" she said, remembering that sometimes Beni brought it home in small bottles wrapped in paper bags.

Jonathan chuckled, sending warm thrills down her spine. "Now there's a splendid choice. How would you order this vodka?"

"I will have vodka."

"I will have _a_ vodka," said Jonathan.

Roza repeated the sentence, wishing her accent wasn't so strong. She felt silly repeating all of these words and phrases, but Jonathan thought it would be fun if he helped her with her English, which he claimed was the best language in the world. The best "bloody" language, he had called it, though Roza didn't know what blood had to do with anything. They sat side-by-side on an old sofa Beni had stolen a couple of years ago, while the night wore on and the neighbors slept in their beds, no doubt relieved that they didn't have to listen to Beni and Roza argue that night. Nobody in the building liked Beni, though Roza managed to gain the neighbors' sympathy by claiming that her husband abused her, which often gained her some spare coins and food donations that Beni insisted she share with him.

Normally she would try the same tactics with Jonathan, especially when he looked like he had money to spare, but all of Roza's street instincts failed her when she was with him. He seemed genuinely delighted each time she said a full sentence in English, as if each word that fell from her mouth was a gift, and he was so wonderfully carefree that being around him felt like a party. He checked the silver watch that Roza would have stolen from any other man, then heaved a small sigh.

"Well, it's getting late, but all this talk about bars and vodka is making me thirsty. I don't suppose there's a drop of scotch or gin or even brandy around here, is there?"

"You want a drink?" Roza asked carefully.

"Ah, _now_ you're getting the hang of it. I'll have a glass of whatever you can find."

Roza got up and searched the apartment, but the only bottles she could find were empty, and she returned to Jonathan with apologetic eyes. "Nothing," she said.

"Nothing," Jonathan repeated glumly. "That's a pity."

Roza sat down on his lap, delighting in the surprised little sound he emitted. "You do not need drink," she said. "_A_ drink, I mean." She put her arms around him and breathed in his scent, which was so different from Beni, who always smelled like cigarettes. "You have _me_."

"Quite right," Jonathan murmured.

He didn't have to be urged further and took her to the bedroom, to the bed that Beni hadn't slept in for days. Roza knew that was partially her own fault, since she drove Beni away when he showed up at the door, but he had no right to demand that she coddle him when he had obviously been sleeping with another woman. He came whining to her a couple of hours before, claiming that he had been shot, but Roza was tired of his lies and threw things at him until he finally went away.

Jonathan remained for another hour, then kissed her goodbye and promised to return. Roza sat up in bed and listened to his footsteps die away, wearing nothing but a nightgown while her underwear lay on the floor, and felt like laughing for the first time in weeks. It was exciting to be with a new man. She hadn't slept with anyone but Beni since she married him and thought she would _always_ sleep with Beni, every night for the rest of her life, since she had given herself freely enough for one lifetime.

Beni had been the only stable thing in her life since the Great War.

Roza's brothers both fought in the war and found her a place to stay, since their parents had been dead for years and she had no one to look after her while her brothers were in the army. She lived in a boarding house in exchange for doing chores, which worked out well for a few months until the landlord caught her stealing and tossed her into the street. With no place to go, she returned to the old family apartment and entertained men in exchange for money, then lied to her brothers and pretended she had done honest work.

Beni knew all about it, of course. Beni knew everything about her.

Except Jonathan.

Roza fell asleep and dreamed peacefully for an hour, until somebody pulled back the blankets and climbed into bed, making the old mattress creak in a dozen places. Roza caught the faint whiff of cigarettes.

"Go back to your whore," she muttered.

She couldn't see Beni, since she had her back to him, but she could hear him snickering. "Oh, that's really hurtful, coming from you," said Beni.

"I don't want you here."

"I don't care what you want. I'm tired."

"You _should_ care what I want. I'm your wife."

"God, Roza," Beni whined. "Just leave me alone. I'm wounded."

Roza turned over to look at him, just barely able to make out his eyes in the dark. "Why do you keep lying to me, Beni?"

"I'm not lying. I _did_ get shot, and it hurts." Beni grabbed her hand and placed it on his shoulder, where she could feel a bandage beneath her fingers. "I've been all alone and in pain because you turned me from the door. Of course I don't care what you want when you treat me like that."

"But you _were_ with another woman the other night," said Roza.

"Who cares about the other night?"

"See? You're not denying it."

Beni sighed and turned on his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. "I wish you would shut up," he groaned. "I came here so I could sleep, not argue with you about some woman."

"Well it doesn't matter," said Roza. "I'm not angry anymore."

"Good. Now let me sleep."

Roza fell silent and closed her eyes, listening to Beni breathe in and out. She thought she wanted him because they had so much in common, and because he was just as desperate as herself. She thought she deserved him because they were both so terrible and wretched, doing whatever they could to make money, and she liked that she didn't have to impress him or hide her past.

She scooted away from Beni, moving to the edge of the bed so she wouldn't have to touch him, and repeated the English lesson in her head, over and over until the foreign words dulled her mind and sent her back to sleep.

She didn't know what she wanted anymore.


	14. Arrangement

Arrangement

Beni sat at a corner table in Hamunaptra, nervously sipping a cocktail as he eyed the groups of people that came and went. The day hadn't been a bad one, since he took the silver candlesticks that Gloria gave him and sold them for a good price, and Roza stopped nagging him after he took off his bandage and showed her the bullet wound, but the evening was a different story. He didn't know how often O'Connell visited Hamunaptra, and he didn't think O'Connell would actually kill him, but he was still uneasy and refused to take his eyes off the crowd every time he drank his cocktail.

He also wanted to give Meela a good smack across the face.

She never mentioned that she had hired O'Connell, but Beni did some investigating after he left Meela's apartment and found out that O'Connell was working with Daniels and Henderson, which suited him perfectly since Daniels and Henderson were also idiots. It made Beni wonder if Meela _liked_ managing a bunch of morons. He supposed O'Connell thought it was funny to shoot him in the shoulder and walk away, but Beni had come up with a better joke with a much stronger punchline than those pathetic three years that O'Connell served for the robbery attempt.

He lost some of his anxiety when Gloria entered the bar, wearing a green dress that matched her eyes, and he felt smug knowing what she looked like beneath the dress. He thought he was getting tired of Gloria, but she had proved to have her uses. She approached his table with her usual careless attitude, as if she had wandered in by chance and only bothered to walk towards him because she had nothing else to do, and slipped into the seat across from him.

"What are you drinking?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter," said Beni. "I am not buying you one."

Gloria grabbed Beni's drink and took a sip. "Hmm, it's not what I'm in the mood for, anyway. You can keep it."

"Why, thank you," Beni said sarcastically. He took his drink and held it as far from Gloria as possible, keeping one hand wrapped around the glass.

She took a gold cigarette case out of her handbag and placed it on the table, then spent several seconds choosing which cigarette she wanted to smoke. Beni kept his eyes on the case, half-annoyed that she would flaunt her belongings in front of him, and half-envious of the beautiful gold that held her cigarettes.

Gloria lifted her eyes to meet his. "You like it?"

"Of course I do."

"Maybe I'll give it to you if you're good," she said.

Beni was definitely not tired of Gloria.

She found the cigarette she wanted and shut the gold case, then stuffed it back into her handbag. Beni glanced around the speakeasy, wondering if O'Connell's tall form would come striding by, then watched Gloria pull out a match and light the cigarette she had placed between her red-painted lips.

"You know, I've decided that I like you," Gloria said after her cigarette was lit.

Beni smirked at her. "I am honored."

"I want you to take me to dinner one of these nights."

"And why would I do that?"

"I've met some delightful criminals in half a dozen bars, but I've never gone out to dinner with a single one. It would be a shame living the rest of my life knowing that I never went to dinner with a criminal, wouldn't it?"

"If I take you out, I am not paying for it," said Beni. "And you had better make it worth my while afterwards."

"Don't I always make it worth your while?" said Gloria, dropping her voice to the low, purr-like tone that Beni found hard to refuse. "I bet you know all sorts of seedy little places to find a meal, don't you? We should go someplace disreputable, just for the fun of it, and I'll pay every cent if you want me to."

Beni wished he had run into Gloria ages ago. A girl who always put out, paid for everything, and didn't mind his lifestyle was almost too good to be true, and it took no effort to keep her around. "We have a deal," he said.

"I suppose your wife won't mind."

Beni laughed bitterly. "Of course she will mind. She hates it when I am not home with her because she is the neediest woman alive."

Gloria took a drag on her cigarette, her eyes bright with amusement. "She sounds interesting."

"She is a lot of trouble."

"Well what would you do if you were married to _me_ instead? I think Gloria Gabor has a nice ring to it, don't you agree?"

"No," said Beni. "I would never marry you."

"Not even for my money?"

Beni hesitated, remembering the silver candlesticks and the gold cigarette case. "No," he said again. "Not even for your money."

"Well that's all right. I wouldn't marry you either."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Just for something to talk about," said Gloria. "Why did you want me to meet you here, anyway?"

Beni drank down the last of his cocktail, though he kept his hand on the glass and tapped his fingers against it anxiously, fueled with nervous energy. "How well do you know Rick O'Connell?"

"Rick who?" Gloria asked absently.

"O'Connell, the man who tried to rob a bank. You asked me if I knew a man named Rick the first time we stayed at the hotel."

"Oh, _him_. I only met him once, but he seemed awfully fascinating."

"Would you recognize O'Connell if you saw him again?"

"I suppose I would. Why?"

"I want you to become friends with him."

Gloria let her cigarette dangle between her fingers, her head wreathed in a cloud of smoke as she raised an eyebrow at Beni. "Why should I?"

"It doesn't matter why. Will you do it or not?"

"Sure," said Gloria. "But how will I find this O'Connell fellow?"

"Leave that to me," said Beni. He would have to be friends with O'Connell as well, just long enough to put his plan into action, and hopefully wouldn't have to deal with him for a long time afterwards. He eyed the cigarette that Gloria had stuck between her lips and longed for a drag. "Let me have your cigarette."

Gloria smiled. "I don't want to."

"Oh, come one. You're always smoking. Every time I see you, you've got a cigarette in your mouth."

"That's because I like smoking. Why don't you get your own cigarette?"

"I did not bring any with me. And I thought I could have your cigarette case if I was good."

"Oh, did I say that?" said Gloria.

"Yes, you did."

Gloria's lips curved into a wicked smile. "Take me to dinner first and then we'll see."


	15. Infatuation

Infatuation

"Evy would look darling if she cut her hair, wouldn't she?"

"Well, I don't know, Margaret. I think her hair looks perfectly fine."

"Of course you do, dear. You haven't the faintest idea what a bob even is, do you?"

Gloria watched the rain lash against the parlor windows and tried to ignore Margaret and Burns, who were involved in one of their usual dull conversations. She still couldn't believe that her sister was going to marry Burns, who always arrived at the house wearing glasses and a bow tie—she swore he had a whole drawer full of bow ties, since he wore a different one every time—instead of Henderson, who was a lot of fun, or even Daniels, who always had something sarcastic to say. How in the world Burns became friends with interesting men like Daniels and Henderson was a mystery to Gloria.

The rain came down harder, reminding her of why she was trapped in the house with her family, and she glanced over at Jonathan, Evelyn, and Freddie, who seemed equally bored. Margaret tried to draw Evelyn into the conversation, telling her about the sandwich shop they should visit when the rain stopped, while Burns sat back and let Margaret make all the decisions. Gloria took a sip of tea, only to find that it had grown cold, and gently nudged Jonathan, who sat beside her on the sofa.

"You want to have a drink, Jonny?" she whispered.

"_Can_ we?" he whispered back.

"No one will mind, if that's what you're worried about. Let's go."

The two of them slipped out of the parlor and got some scotch out of the liquor cabinet, then took it into the study and shut the door. Gloria lounged on the big sofa, smirking at the memory of how Beni had taken her right on the leather cushions, and held out her empty glass so that Jonathan could pour the scotch from its crystal decanter.

Jonathan sat in a chair with a relieved sigh and poured his own glass. "That Burns fellow seems like a nice enough sort," he remarked.

"Oh, Burns is a pushover," said Gloria. "He likes to surround himself with people who make decisions for him. That's why he's smitten with Margaret."

"Now you shouldn't tease a man who's in love, dear girl. I think this Burns is a lucky fellow."

Gloria sipped her scotch and studied Jonathan, the only member of her family she could tolerate for more than ten minutes at a time. "I don't think he's lucky at all. Marriage is so dreadfully dull."

"And what if _I_ ever got married? Would you find me dull too?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jonny. We all know you're the last man on earth who would ever get married. Even Freddie would get married before you, and Freddie thinks marriage is nothing but a silly tradition invented by society."

"Really now, Gloria, my likelihood of settling down isn't _that_ impossible."

"The only way you'll ever get married is if you trick some fabulously rich woman into falling in love with you," Gloria informed him. "And then she'll whisk you off to some castle in France, where she has a private beach and five automobiles."

Jonathan tugged at his shirt collar, looking a bit red-faced. "Now that is a load of bollocks, my dear. I'll have you know that I met the most charming little foreign girl here in the city, and she barely has a cent."

Gloria nearly spilled scotch on herself, she was so amused at the thought of Jonathan spending time with some penniless waif from out of the country. "I find that hard to believe," she said. "Are you sure she isn't secretly an heiress?"

"Oh, I always _did_ intend to fall for an heiress," said Jonathan. "An heiress or nothing; that's what I always told myself. But then I met this Hungarian girl and well, I suppose I changed my mind."

Gloria was getting bored until the word "Hungarian" caught her attention. "Well I bet this girl is quite a laugh if she's Hungarian. They're the funniest sort of people, you know."

"She's still learning English, if that's what you mean by funny. I didn't know you were an expert on Hungarians."

"Oh, I've met one here and there," Gloria said casually. "They're good for a temporary amusement. What's the name of this penniless foreigner of yours?"

"Roza," Jonathan said with obvious rapture. "I haven't told Evy about her, of course. She doesn't approve of philandering around with the locals when you're on holiday, you know."

Gloria didn't care whether or not he had told Evelyn. He could have told the President of the United States the whole story and Gloria wouldn't have cared. The most delightful tingle was running up her spine, the type of tingle she got whenever mischief was at hand, and she wanted to laugh out loud because she knew exactly who Jonathan was talking about. "How lovely," she said. "I do think the name Roza is quite darling, in a charming foreign sort of way. Has she got any family in the city?"

"None that I know of, except for a brother she lives with," said Jonathan. "Though I've never caught even a glimpse of the fellow. It seems he's never home."

"Maybe she hasn't got a brother at all."

Jonathan didn't laugh and brush her aside, the way Gloria expected him to, but gazed thoughtfully into his drink instead. Gloria shifted restlessly on the sofa, hardly able to keep still when scandal was in the air, just waiting to blow up like a fireworks display, and drank down the rest of her scotch. "All this talk has made me a bit sleepy," she said. "You won't mind if I leave you here all alone, will you?"

"No, no. Go ahead." Jonathan grabbed the crystal decanter and refilled his glass, hardly aware of Gloria as she got up and strolled out of the study, leaving her empty glass on the little side table beside the sofa. The housemaid would pick it up it later if Jonathan didn't take care of it.

"How marvelous," Gloria murmured to herself as soon as she was alone. She walked past the parlor, where the hum of voices mingled with the rain pattering against the windows, and headed upstairs to her bedroom. How marvelous indeed that Jonathan had met Roza Gabor, of all people, and grown inexplicably fond of her. Gloria found the whole thing terribly funny and wondered what the family would say if they knew Jonathan was dallying with a married woman. She wondered what Beni would say if he knew that her cousin was involved with his wife.

She couldn't possibly keep such a good joke to herself.

The rain began to fade when evening fell and Gloria caught Freddie alone before dinnertime. She stood in the doorway of his room, watching him turn the pages of a book that sat open upon his desk, and gently cleared her throat.

Freddie didn't bother to look up. "Yes?"

"I'm taking your car tomorrow night," said Gloria.

"Most people ask for permission before borrowing something, Gloria. It's a little something called courtesy."

"Why should I waste my breath asking when you know I'll take it anyway? You always let me take it."

"Then why bother telling me?"

"Hmm, I don't know," said Gloria. "I believe it's a little thing called courtesy. I'm not _that_ heartless."

Freddie chuckled as he turned another page of his book. "I would have never guessed. Where are you dragging my car off to this time?"

"I'm going to dinner with a man."

"You're not going with that odd little man we saw you with last night, are you? If you're going to go slumming, Gloria, at least go slumming with taste."

Gloria had been pleased rather than annoyed when Freddie walked into Hamunaptra, accompanied by Evelyn, and found her drinking cocktails with Beni. She couldn't imagine how proper, strait-laced Evelyn could possibly have fun at a speakeasy, especially with Freddie at her elbow trying to be witty the entire time, and imagined she was scandalized to see Gloria with a man like Beni. It had been delightful.

"I happen to like that odd little man," Gloria told Freddie. "And I _am_ going to dinner with him."

"All right," said Freddie, waving a dismissive hand at her. "If you want to eat dinner with trash, then go ahead. I won't stop you."

"Thank you, dear brother." Gloria didn't smile and retreated from the doorway.


	16. Persuasion

**Author's Note: **So, I borrowed a _little_ bit from the film _Goodfellas_ in this chapter, as demonstrated by the conversation about Rosenberg. Also, Jimmy's restaurant is a reference to Robert De Niro's character in the film, just for the fun of it.

* * *

Persuasion

Beni walked into Jimmy's with Gloria on his arm, unable to keep a smirk off his face as he entered the dingy little restaurant. He had picked someplace disreputable just like Gloria wanted, but he felt like a million bucks, as the Americans said, thanks to the fancy car parked outside the restaurant and the richly dressed woman who held onto his arm and seemed delighted with the dark, run-down atmosphere. All sorts of crooks frequented Jimmy's and Beni couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces when he walked by with a prize like Gloria.

"Do you eat here often?" Gloria asked.

"Oh, yes," said Beni. "It is my home away from home." He first met O'Connell at Jimmy's three years ago, before he discovered Imhotep, Meela, and the alluring Hamunaptra. He and O'Connell started out hijacking together, then moved on to various other schemes until Beni suggested bank robbery, but he wouldn't dream of working with O'Connell again, even if he _hadn't_ set him up three years ago. He would have never gotten a woman like Gloria if he had stayed in that mediocre partnership.

"That you, Gabor?"

Beni couldn't take five steps into the restaurant without some bastard recognizing him and hauling him off. A large hand closed around his other arm, the one that Gloria wasn't holding, and a stern face with dark eyes looked down at him.

"M-Moritz!" Beni stammered. "How wonderful it is to see you."

"Just the man I've been lookin' for," said Moritz, grinning at Beni. "Your lady friend won't mind if we talk for a moment, will she?"

"I'll just get a table and wait," said Gloria, releasing Beni's arm. "Hurry back, will you?"

Beni didn't get a chance to reply. Jacob Moritz, a prominent member of Chicago's largest Jewish gang, dragged him out of the restaurant and into the dark little alley beside the building. "I'm lucky I ran into you, Gabor," said Moritz, pushing Beni against the brick wall so he wouldn't run away. "You're slippery as an eel, ya know."

Beni attempted a weak laugh, but the bricks were digging painfully into his back and he grimaced instead. "Heh. I try my best."

"I need you to do a little favor for me. I would ask one of my boys, but I know you do such good work."

"Oh, it is my pleasure."

Sometimes Beni did jobs for the Jews, since his jobs for Meela were few and far between, though he didn't get paid as much since the Jews were so tight-fisted with their money. He looked up into Moritz's wide, stern face, which reminded him of a bear, and gasped a bit when the cold, hard barrel of a gun pressed against his ribs. Pulling out a gun was Moritz's way of ensuring someone's trust.

"You know Rosenberg?" said Moritz.

"Sure I do," said Beni. "He owes me twenty dollars."

"You'll get more than twenty dollars if you take care of him for me."

Between the bricks digging into his back and the gun pressed against his ribs, Beni would do anything. "Of course," he said. "But I thought everyone liked Rosenberg."

"Oh, sure. We all love Rosenberg, but he's gettin' to be a problem. Keeps botherin' me about some money—and we're talkin' about a shitload of money here—that he thinks I owe him 'cause of a score he helped bring in. It's gotten to the point where he's makin' threats and causin' a lot of ruckus, and who knows what he'll do next? When a fella starts actin' like a real schmuck, it ain't safe to keep him around." Moritz pressed the gun barrel a little more firmly against Beni's chest. "I'm sure you know that lesson real well, don'tcha?"

"Yes, of course," said Beni, gazing up at him with wide eyes. "I would be more than happy to take care of Rosenberg."

"Tonight," said Moritz.

"Tonight? Can't it wait until—"

Moritz increased his pressure on the gun, making Beni whimper.

"I mean, sure! Sure! I will take care of him tonight!" he said quickly. "But come on, can't I at least have dinner first? Haven't you seen who I am with?"

"She's quite a looker," said Moritz. "How much did you hafta pay her to take a second look at you?"

"I paid her nothing," said Beni. "I am just a lucky man."

"Well let me know when you get tired of her, will ya?" Moritz stuck his gun back into his jacket and gave Beni a little shove towards the mouth of the alley. "And don't take too long on your dinner. I want Rosenberg gone by daybreak."

Beni scurried back into Jimmy's and collapsed into a seat across from Gloria, who regarded him with curious eyes. "Looks like you had a lovely little chat with your friend," she said.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Beni.

"All right, then. Is the food here any good or do you just come for the atmosphere?"

"This place is run by micks, so it is hard to get anything without potatoes, but it's good enough. You are paying for it all anyway, so it doesn't matter."

They both ordered the roast beef, which predictably came with potatoes, and Beni gradually recovered from his encounter with Moritz as they waited for the food. Gloria didn't smoke for once and gazed around with interest, taking in the dark, stained walls and poorly dressed diners before fixing her green gaze upon Beni. "Do you think you'd ever fall in love with me?" she said. "I think it would be fun to have a man in love with me, as long as he didn't behave like a fool about it."

"That is ridiculous," said Beni. "And all men in love are complete idiots."

"Oh, no. I don't think _you_ would be an idiot about it. You would know better."

"I still wouldn't fall in love with you. It is bad enough that I have Roza to deal with."

"How's your wife doing?" asked Gloria. "I do hope she's been well."

Beni hated how curious she was about Roza. "What does it matter? She is not here with us right now."

"Well of course she isn't. She's at home right where you left her, I imagine, having a fine time without you."

Beni scowled at her. "I don't want to talk about my wife."

"You don't want to talk about anything, do you? Personally I think we _should_ talk about your wife, since I know for a fact that she's seeing another man, but if you want to change the subject than it's fine with me."

"What do you mean, she is seeing another man?"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about her."

Beni _didn't_ want to talk about her, since the whole point of going out with Gloria was to get away from Roza, but curiosity gnawed at him like a persistent cigarette craving. "How do you know she is seeing another man? You don't know anything about Roza."

"No, I don't, but I know someone who does," said Gloria.

"I think you are making the whole thing up."

Gloria looked at him with a lazy little smile on her red lips. "Now why would I do a thing like that? I thought you ought to know what your wife has been up to, that's all."

"I still think you are lying."

"Think whatever you like, then."

When the food arrived Beni tried to focus on his meal, paying close attention to each forkful of roast beef he placed in his mouth, but Gloria's words bothered him a little. He didn't want Roza, of course, and would gladly sell her to the highest bidder if he could, but he didn't like the thought of somebody coming into his apartment and taking his wife behind his back. _Beni_ was the one who screwed people over, not the other way around, and he cursed Moritz for giving him that stupid assignment. He thought Roza had put whoring behind her after the war, but perhaps that wasn't so true.

If Gloria wasn't lying, of course. How could she possibly know anything about Roza?

"You're awful quiet."

Gloria's voice broke through his thoughts, reminding him that the evening wasn't about Roza or any other petty problems. It was about eating dinner with a fancy woman and showing off to Chicago's underworld. "Of course I am quiet," he told Gloria. "I am eating."

"How do you say roast beef in Hungarian?"

Beni told her something filthy instead.

"Wonderful. Let's get a hotel room after this," said Gloria, blissfully ignorant of what he just said. He doubted she would care if she _did_ understand him. "A really nice hotel room with big windows and an excessive amount of pillows."

"I can't," said Beni.

"Why not?"

"I have business I need to take care of."

Any other woman would pout and insist that he stay with her, but Gloria barely reacted and continued eating her meal, as if getting a hotel room was only a passing whim that meant nothing to her. Beni wished that all women were like Gloria.

"Anyway, we can get a room tomorrow," he said. "We are meeting O'Connell at Hamunaptra tomorrow night. I know someone who has made all the arrangements."

"And what will I do when I talk to O'Connell?" asked Gloria.

"Whatever I tell you to do. Just be friendly and don't act suspicious."

Beni had tracked down an old friend of O'Connell's and convinced him to invite O'Connell to Hamunaptra, which saved Beni from the task of finding O'Connell himself. It also decreased the likelihood of getting shot again, since there was safety in numbers and Beni knew better than to find himself alone with O'Connell after their last encounter. His shoulder still ached in the early morning hours, keeping him awake.

Gloria paid for both meals, just like she promised, and smirked at Beni as she pulled something gold out of her handbag. "Do you still like my cigarette case?" she asked.

"Yes," said Beni, gazing at the gold case with greedy eyes. "Are you going to give it to me?"

"I don't know," said Gloria. "You've asked me for another favor."

"It is barely a favor. All you're doing is having drinks with a friend of mine."

"Well I don't do things for people unless I get something in return."

Beni smirked back at her. "You _will_ be getting something in return. We are going to a hotel afterwards, remember?"

"Oh, that doesn't count."

Beni's voice grew whiny. "Then what do you want me to do?"

"My sister Margaret is having a party next week. It's going to be a tremendous bore and I _have_ to attend, so I want you to come with me."

"You are joking."

"Don't you want to eat expensive food and pretend you're rich for a day? Nobody can throw you out of the house if you're a guest."

Beni was tempted, though he wouldn't let Gloria have the satisfaction of seeing it in his eyes. "I'll think about it," he said. "Just make sure you show up tomorrow night."


	17. Anxiety

Anxiety

"I really don't know why I'm getting into a car with you. We'll probably get in a wreck and _I'll_ be the one injured, knowing my luck."

"You can always walk," said Rick.

"No, no. I'll take my chances." Izzy continued grumbling to himself as he got in the passenger seat of Rick's car and fumbled in his pockets for a cigar. Rick was strongly reminded of another passenger who sat in the same exact seat three years ago, a similar cigar clenched between his teeth, and quickly shook off the memory. Beni had been a lousy friend three years ago, but that was in the past and Rick had made his peace with the incident.

Night had recently fallen, spreading a pale blue blanket over the city, and Rick started the ignition once Izzy had stopped his grumbling. He had to rent a new apartment after getting out of jail, but he had managed to get his old car back and drove out of the rundown neighborhood, headed for Hamunaptra. He glanced at Izzy, who was wearing an eye patch that Rick didn't remember seeing the last time they encountered one another, and frowned.

"When did you lose an eye?"

"Oh, you mean this?" said Izzy, tugging at his patch. "I didn't."

"Then why are you wearing an eye patch?"

"Cause we're going to a _speakeasy_, O'Connell. There will be ladies there, and ladies always fancy a man who looks a little dangerous. We can't all be born brawny and handsome like you, now can we?"

"You look ridiculous," said Rick.

Izzy tapped cigar ash out of his window and huffed. "I don't look ridiculous. I look like a pirate."

"It's the twentieth century, Izzy. There aren't any pirates."

"How would _you_ know? Have you ever gotten into a ship and sailed the ocean?"

"I don't have to go sailing to know that there aren't any pirates."

Izzy fell silent and looked out at the streets, sulking as he smoked his cigar. Rick had been surprised when Izzy came to him yesterday, claiming that Beni wanted to meet the two of them at Hamunaptra and "make amends," and he had made sure to bring an extra gun, just in case Beni had some unpleasant tricks up his sleeve. Maybe shooting him in the shoulder hadn't been the best way of getting revenge, but it was over now and Rick couldn't help but hope that Beni had learned his lesson. Temporarily, at least.

"It's not just a dashing accessory, you know," Izzy spoke up.

"Are we still talking about the patch?" Rick asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"It's protection," said Izzy. "Some evil spirit out there has got something against me, I just know it."

"I don't think evil spirits are interested in taking people's eyes," said Rick.

"It's not the spirit I'm afraid of, man! It's the accidents _caused_ by the evil spirit. I think somebody out there has put a voodoo spell on me."

Izzy had always been paranoid, but this was too much. "Voodoo, huh?" said Rick. "And what is that exactly?"

"Oh c'mon, ain't you ever heard of voodoo?"

"Sure, I've heard of it, but I wouldn't go around believing in it."

"I've got family down in New Orleans," Izzy said seriously. "They're big believers in voodoo down in New Orleans. Did you know that all you have to do is steal somebody's lock of hair to cause them a world of pain? That's what I think has happened to _me_. How else could I get shot in the ass?"

Rick kept on driving and held back a groan. He had heard this story at least twenty times.

"And it's _your_ fault," Izzy continued. "You're the one who borrowed the money I was going to give to that loan shark."

"You didn't have to lend it to me," said Rick.

"How was I supposed to know the lousy bugger would come knocking at my door? I thought I had 'til the next week! But no, I lend you the money and the very next day I get my door practically kicked in by the loan shark. And when I don't have the money, he has the nerve to pull out his gun and _shoot_ me in the _ass_. It's a voodoo spell, I'm telling you."

"Sure," said Rick.

"Or maybe someone has put a voodoo spell on _you_," Izzy said thoughtfully. "A spell that leaves _you_ perfectly intact but causes pain to all of your friends."

"Oh, come on. Who else has gotten shot because of me?"

"Beni Gabor, for one. He showed me his shoulder."

"Did he tell you _why _he got shot?"

"Well, no," Izzy admitted.

"Did you ever learn why I was in jail for three years?"

Izzy tapped more ash from his cigar, narrowly missing the interior of the car as Rick swerved around a corner. "Well, of course," he said. "Everyone knows you tried to rob a bank. You should have stuck to the old schemes, you know."

"Yeah, I know," said Rick. "Beni set me up three years ago, so I shot him to teach him a lesson."

"Wait, stop the car!" Izzy cried, sitting bolt upright. "Beni _set you up_?"

"I'm not gonna stop the car," said Rick.

"He really set you up?"

"That's what I said."

"Well." Izzy slumped back in his eat. "I can't say I'm surprised."

"You realize this meeting might be a trap, right?" said Rick.

"Of course," said Izzy. "Why else would I agree to ride with you? Even a man who _isn't_ under a voodoo curse has got to watch his back around Beni Gabor."

Rick was relieved that they were nearly at Hamunaptra. Izzy was an old friend who could always be counted on to sell stolen goods for a decent price, but Rick didn't think he could handle being stuck in the car with him much longer. "So did Beni mention what he wants to talk about, exactly?"

"He just said he wants to have a drink and forget the past," said Izzy. "And he said he's bringing a woman with him, so it can't be _that_ bad."

"Knowing Beni, she's probably the worst kind of floozy. Or a hooker."

"Still, a woman is a woman. Do you think she'll like my eye patch?"

"Yeah," Rick said with a long-suffering sigh. "I bet she'll love it." He parked the car and made sure his two guns were right where he left them, within easy reach. "Now let's go see what my buddy's up to."


	18. Suspicion

Suspicion

Roza sat up in bed with a stolen magazine in her lap, watching Beni button his shirt and pull on his suspenders. He had been unusually nice to her and spent more time at home than normal, but she was impatient for him to leave so she could see Jonathan. She glanced down at her bare hand and was glad that Beni had sold her ring to get to America, though Jonathan was starting to ask questions about her living arrangement. She had told him that Beni slept on the couch, but he still found it odd that Beni kept his things in her bedroom, and Roza knew that Jonathan would discover the truth eventually.

She wasn't ashamed of being married, exactly. She just didn't want Jonathan to know that she had married a man like Beni.

Beni finished getting dressed and turned to look at her, a little smirk on his lips. "Are you going to kiss me goodbye, my dear?"

Roza couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes. Come here."

Roza pushed the magazine off her lap and crossed the short distance to the middle of the room, where Beni stood waiting for her. He was probably being nice so she would continue to act as his nursemaid, since he still whined and complained about his shoulder wound, but Roza didn't mind kissing him if it got rid of him faster. "Goodbye," she said, then tilted her head up to peck him on the lips.

Beni's eyes were mocking. "What was that?"

"That was a kiss."

"Oh no, that was not a kiss." He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her hard, and reached a hand under her skirt. "I don't have to leave right away. Why don't you give me a _real_ goodbye?"

Roza would normally drag him to the bed and pull up her dress for him, eager for whatever attention he could give her, but all of her passion had cooled and she tried to pull Beni's hand out from under her skirt. "I'm tired."

"You don't look tired to me." Beni kissed her again, more forcefully this time, and steered her towards the bed.

Roza resisted him. "Beni, _stop_."

"That isn't like you," said Beni, frowning. "You always want it."

"Well I'm not in the mood tonight."

"You _always_ want it," Beni repeated. "Why don't you want me anymore? Is there another man?"

Roza's heart thudded in her chest and she gazed at Beni with big eyes, feeling limp and helpless in his arms. "How could you accuse me of that?"

"He's giving you money, isn't he? Or is there more than one man? I bet you're sleeping with half the building in exchange for food and money and those stupid magazines you like."

"Shut up," said Roza.

Beni shoved her away from him and laughed, making her hate the sound of his voice as those mocking little snickers grated on her ears. "I'm not surprised," he said. "There's really only one thing you're good for. Aside from nagging, of course."

"Does it matter if I'm seeing another man?" said Roza. "_You're_ seeing another woman. I know you are."

"I wouldn't have to see her if you weren't such a pain in the ass."

"Well I wouldn't be seeing another man if you weren't such a bastard!"

"What do you want to do then?" Beni demanded. "Try to get an annulment? What are you going to do when this man of yours finds out what a whore you are and leaves you on the street?"

"He wouldn't do that," said Roza.

"I think he would. And I won't take you back when he does."

Roza thought about swearing at him or throwing something, anything to let him know that she wanted him gone from her sight, but all of her energy was spent. Their constant arguments, which had grown so commonplace that they barely affected her anymore, had suddenly become petty and she no longer cared who won the battle. "Get out," she told Beni. "I'm tired."

"Oh, _you're_ tired?" said Beni. "How do you think _I_ feel?"

"I don't care how you feel. Get out."

"Goodbye, my dear," Beni jeered at her, then slammed the bedroom door on his way out.

Roza sank down onto the bed and sat there for countless minutes, too numb to cry about a marriage that was over before it even began. She and Beni were just using each other over the years, sharing the same living space in exchange for selfish wants, and Roza knew that Beni would never love her but she craved his attention anyway, nagging him incessantly so that he would acknowledge her. She was afraid that if she didn't nag him and act "needy," as he called it, then he would forget her existence until she became nothing more than a ghost drifting alone in a strange country.

She was a pain in the ass, but at least he paid attention to her, and now she didn't care if she never saw him again.

They could probably get an annulment. Beni had entered the marriage unwillingly and had to be dragged to the ceremony by Roza's brothers, who roughed him up beforehand, and he wasn't even a true Catholic when he claimed to have so many other faiths. But where would Roza go if they _did_ get an annulment? Beni was right when he said she couldn't take care of herself and needed a man to do everything for her. She could try going to Jonathan, but Jonathan was staying with his cousins and couldn't possibly take her in, which meant that Roza was stuck with Beni. She was always stuck with Beni.

When Jonathan arrived half an hour later with a bottle of wine under his arm and a smile on his face, Roza realized how big of a risk they were taking. Beni might know that she was seeing another man, but he had no idea _who_ that man was and if he ever tried to hurt Jonathan then Roza would try her best to hurt him back.

"Something wrong?" Jonathan asked. He had noticed Roza's failure to smile back at him.

She took the bottle and kissed him on the cheek, resisting the urge to cling to him like a child and break down completely. She had endured too much to lose control. "No," she said in her flawed English. "I miss you."

"I missed you too, love. Let's find ourselves a couple of glasses, shall we?"

They sat at the cramped little table in the kitchen and drank from a couple of regular cups, since Roza didn't have any wineglasses, and Jonathan entertained her with more English lessons. He didn't have a care in the world and he drank a lot, but he didn't get irritable the way Beni sometimes did when he drank, though Beni became irritable whether he was drinking or not. The wine loosened Roza's tongue and next thing she knew she was teaching Jonathan words in Hungarian, laughing at him when he fumbled the pronunciation.

"So where is this mysterious brother of yours always hiding himself?" Jonathan asked. He was a bit red-faced from both the wine and the Hungarian lessons. "He must be a busy fellow."

Maybe it was the wine, or the earlier argument with Beni, or simply weariness, but Roza couldn't look Jonathan in the eye and lie to him any longer. "I tell you something," she said quietly.

Something in her voice caught Jonathan's attention and he didn't correct her English. "What is it?"

"Beni... is not my brother," Roza said with difficulty. "He is my husband. He is a bad man."

"Your husband," Jonathan echoed. "Good _Lord_. But, but you haven't got a ring."

"Beni sell it."

"He _does_ sound like a bad man."

Roza's lower lip trembled and she took Jonathan by the hand, taking comfort from his warmth. "I am sorry I lie. I am very unhappy."

Jonathan sighed and gave her hand a squeeze. "What are you going to do, love? Try and get rid of this blackguard?"

Roza didn't know what a blackguard was, but it sounded like an appropriate name for Beni. "I do not know," she said. "But I want... I want to be happy."


	19. Strategy

Strategy

"How did you know that Roza is having an affair?"

"I see you've done some detective work," said Gloria, gazing calmly at Beni. They stood together in the oriental rug shop, ready to go down to Hamunaptra, while the portly shopkeeper stood whistling behind the counter.

Beni scowled at her. "I want to know how you found out."

"Oh, it was simple. My cousin is having an affair with your wife, you see, and he told me all about it. But Jonny's going back to England in a few weeks, so it won't be long until he's out of your hair." Gloria smirked. "Or your bed, I should say."

"That is not funny," said Beni.

"Of course it is. My cousin is involved with your wife and _I'm_ involved with_ you_. We're living out the plot of a silly stage play."

"Let's go," said Beni, growing impatient. "O'Connell might be waiting for us."

Gloria took Beni's arm, much to his relief, and he cautiously walked with her down the stairs and into the basement where Hamunaptra was found. He was lucky that Gloria had no problem with getting close to him in public, since he could always pull her in front of him and use her as a shield in case O'Connell decided to get violent. He wasn't afraid of O'Connell, exactly, since O'Connell wasn't smart enough to lure him into a trap, but every one of his senses was alert as he entered Hamunaptra and looked around for his old friend.

"There they are," said Beni, pointing at a table near the back. O'Connell sat lounging in a chair with a cocktail in his hand, talking to that idiot Izzy. "Just ignore his friend Izzy. He is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous how?" asked Gloria.

"I don't know, he's just an idiot. He overreacts to everything and he tells the same stories over and over."

"He sounds like a real laugh."

"You say that because you don't know him."

Beni never got the chance to study O'Connell the last time they met, since he had been too busy whimpering with pain and bleeding all over Meela's office, but he paid close attention as he and Gloria approached his table. Jail hadn't changed O'Connell and he looked the same as ever, though his eyes were suspicious as they landed on Beni and looked him up and down, checking for signs of a trap. Beni laughed nervously and held Gloria's arm a little bit tighter. "O'Connell, my good friend. I hope we can forget about our unfortunate past."

"I can do that," said O'Connell, though he didn't relax his guard. His eyes flicked over to Gloria. "Hey, I remember you."

"Rick, isn't it?" said Gloria, offering him a smile. "You'll have to tell me how exactly you tried to rob that bank."

Izzy nudged O'Connell with his elbow and winked, though he could have merely been blinking since he was wearing an eye patch. "See what I told you, O'Connell? It isn't that bad."

"Why are you wearing that thing?" asked Beni.

"What thing?" said Izzy.

"The eye patch. Both of your eyes are fine."

"Well you don't need to spoil it so the whole place can hear!" said Izzy. "Isn't a chap allowed to wear an eye patch for the hell of it rather than necessity? Besides, I'm sure the lady here finds it dashing. What is your name, dearie?"

Gloria let go of Beni's arm and sank down into the chair beside Izzy. "It's Gloria."

"Gloria!" Izzy echoed, looking her over. "You _seem_ like a Gloria. Don't you think she seems like a Gloria, O'Connell?"

"Sure," said O'Connell. He wouldn't stop watching Beni, though he appeared perfectly calm on the outside. "Have a seat," he told Beni, gesturing at the one remaining chair. "_Buddy_."

"Why, thank you," Beni said politely. He took a seat and tried to calm the nervous thumping of his heart. "You have no idea how sorry I am for my past mistakes, O'Connell. I was a bad, bad man three years ago."

"You don't need to tell _me_ that," said O'Connell. "I know."

"I am a changed man, O'Connell. I want to start over."

"Look, I'm sorry I shot you the other day. I guess that was out of line."

"So _you're_ the one who shot Beni," said Gloria, turning interested eyes upon O'Connell's face. Her lips curved up in amusement. "You must be a bold man to shoot your own best friend."

"Oh, he's bold, all right," said Izzy. "He got _me_ shot in the ass a few years ago!"

Beni groaned and wished he could disappear. Izzy _always_ told the story of getting shot in the ass, as if it was the only interesting moment in his entire life, and Gloria hung on to every word while O'Connell sighed and sipped at his cocktail. "I just heard the story before we got here," he told Beni. "I'll probably hear it _again_ if anyone else joins us."

Beni forced out a laugh. It seemed that O'Connell had forgiven him, though Beni still couldn't forget the pain in his shoulder. Izzy finished his stupid story and Gloria ordered a round of cocktails for everyone, though she made no effort to flaunt any of her riches in front of O'Connell or Izzy. It seemed that Beni was the only one she liked to torment.

"You have a cousin named Evelyn, don't you?" O'Connell asked Gloria.

"And how would you know that?" said Gloria.

"I've, uh, met her a couple of times. I've met your brother too."

"And have you met my _other_ cousin? Evy and Freddie are all right, but Jonny is the one who's truly interesting. He has quite a gift with women, I've heard." Gloria glanced at Beni with a knowing look in her eyes and Beni resisted the urge to kick her under the table.

"If your cousin Evelyn is anything like you, then I'd love to meet her," Izzy said a grin.

"Oh, no. You wouldn't like her at all," said Gloria. "She's hopelessly bookish and thinks having a good time involves studying dead men and dusty old ruins."

O'Connell's hand twitched a little and he wrapped it around his cocktail glass, squeezing the stem until it looked like it would shatter. "Hey, lay off of her," he said. "I don't know her too well, but it seems to me like she's really smart. She really knows her stuff when it comes to Egypt."

Beni felt his plan falling apart and slumped down in his seat, bored by all this talk about Gloria's relatives. He had hoped that Gloria would get close to O'Connell and uncover his vulnerabilities, but O'Connell seemed smitten with her bookish cousin and refused to be impressed with all of Gloria's charms. Beni finished his first cocktail and ordered another one, knowing that Gloria would pay for it, and sighed when Izzy launched into a story about some airplane he had stolen five years ago and then crashed just outside the city.

His eyes landed on the statue of a cat that stood near the table and his fingers itched to steal it, but Meela had made it perfectly clear that all of the artifacts were cursed. Beni didn't believe in honesty or loyalty or family commitment, but he definitely believed in curses and tore his eyes from the cat statue, focusing his gaze on the drink in O'Connell's hand. How easy it would be to poison him and make it look like an accident. People got poisoned all the time in speakeasies, since homemade liquor could be toxic when made in the wrong hands, but Beni didn't want to kill O'Connell, at least not yet. Everyone thought they could do whatever they wanted with Beni, including thugs like Moritz with their forceful demands, and even Roza thought she could sneak behind his back and do as she pleased.

Beni was tired of being walked on. He was tired of being the bottom rung of the ladder in an organization that didn't appreciate him. The city of Chicago thought he was so funny, just because he was foreign and cowardly and spoke with a whine in his voice, and Beni had always been a little jealous of O'Connell, who could get anyone to like him without even trying. People only wanted Beni so they could push him around, or nag him in Roza's case.

Beni would find some way to come out on top. He just needed the right scheme.

"Say, there's Daniels over there," said Gloria, looking towards the bar. "Daniels always has something interesting to say."

"How do you know Daniels?" Beni asked her.

"His completely dull friend is engaged to my sister. Why don't we call Daniels over and get him a cocktail?"

"I will say hello to him for you," said Beni, smirking at Gloria. "I need to have a talk with Daniels alone."

Beni got out of his seat and approached the bar counter, though he kept glancing over his shoulder out of habit as he walked through the speakeasy. Out of all the people Beni was forced to associate with, Daniels was probably his least favorite and he knew the feeling was mutual, since Daniels never hesitated to throw abuse at him whenever they met. Beni had heard rumors about Daniels, rumors saying that he lost his head and shot his girlfriend a few years back, and he was willing to believe them. Daniels seemed like the kind of idiot who would shoot his girlfriend in the heat of the moment.

"Mr. Daniels," said Beni, sliding onto an empty bar stool. "You are looking well this evening."

Daniels sat hunched over a drink and turned his head to glower at him. "The hell do _you_ want?"

"Nothing, my friend," said Beni. "It is not a crime to stop and say hello."

"Well you said your hello. Why don'tcha scram back to your rathole and let a man drink in peace?"

"I heard that you are working with a man named Rick O'Connell. I just wanted to come over and see if it's true."

Daniels sighed. "Yeah, we're workin' with a guy named O'Connell. Our lovely boss lady already likes him a whole lot more than me and Henderson, that's for sure, and she usually doesn't like nobody."

"What a shame," Beni whined, feigning sympathy. "Meela can be such a cruel woman."

"But what do _you_ care about O'Connell?" Daniels demanded. "His workin' with us don't affect you any."

"Oh, but of course it affects me," said Beni. "O'Connell was a very close friend of mine before he went to jail. He's _still_ a close friend of mine. He's right over there at that corner table, waiting for me to come back and finish my drink."

"Then I suggest you go finish it, and leave _me_ to finish mine."

Beni bit back some choice swear words, knowing they wouldn't do him any good, and took his leave of Daniels feeling like victory was at hand.

He had other plans in mind, after all, and Daniels might be the missing piece he needed.


	20. Mystery

Mystery

Evelyn was reading in the parlor with her glasses perched upon her nose, absorbing herself in a book on Cairo's Museum of Antiquities, when she heard a pair of footsteps she recognized. She always knew when her brother entered a room, since he had a certain leisurely, almost careless way of walking, and she looked up to find Jonathan wandering into the room with a glass in his hand. He was drinking again, judging from the amber colored liquid that filled three inches of the glass, and Evelyn frowned.

"Does Uncle Oliver know you've been raiding his liquor cabinet?"

"Oh, what Uncle Oliver doesn't know won't hurt him," said Jonathan, meandering his way over to Evelyn's chair. "The man has more liquor than he knows what to do with."

"Well it won't last forever as long as Prohibition is in place. I'm sure you can cut back until we return home."

"Ah, yes. Home. I've been meaning to speak to you about that."

Evelyn noticed the sheepish tone in Jonathan's voice and studied him closely as he sank upon a nearby sofa. He didn't _seem_ particularly guilty, but Jonathan was rarely guilty about anything, preferring to brush his misdeeds aside and sweep them under the rug like they had never been. Evelyn closed her book with a sigh. "What have you done this time, Jonathan?"

"Now Evy, what on earth makes you think I've done something wrong?"

"Because that's usually the case, that's why."

"Well you can put your unwarranted fears to rest, because the worst thing I've done is drink our uncle's liquor."

"Then why do you want to speak with me about going home?"

Jonathan took a swig from his glass, draining most of the amber liquid, and tapped his free hand idly against his leg, looking a bit nervous all of a sudden. "Well, ah, what do you say to extending our visit a bit? We could both use a longer break from foggy old London, now couldn't we?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea in theory, but we can't just impose ourselves on this house for as long as we please," said Evelyn. "What would Uncle Oliver and Aunt Lydia say?"

"You worry too much, old mum," said Jonathan. "I already mentioned it to Uncle Oliver and he doesn't mind in the least. Says we can stay as long as we like."

"I _would_ like to stay longer," Evelyn said slowly, thinking of Hamunaptra and all its mysteries. "But I don't see how someone who likes to drink as much as you do would want to stay in America longer than necessary, even if there _are_ speakeasies."

Jonathan let out an uncomfortable laugh. "Yes, well, what would you do if I happened to meet someone here in the city? I'm not saying that I _have_ met a girl, but hypothetically speaking—"

"So that's why you're reluctant to go back to England," Evelyn cut in. "I should have known." She had nearly forgotten Freddie's claims that Jonathan was acting oddly over a woman, but now she had the evidence right in front of her and didn't like what she saw. "Does she know that you're here on holiday, or did you conveniently fail to mention that?"

"It's really not what you think, Evy. She's married, first of all—"

"Oh, no," Evelyn groaned. "Last time you got involved with a married woman you—"

"Yes, yes, I know," said Jonathan. "I couldn't get out of bed for a week."

"Well I think getting beaten within an inch of your life should have taught you a lesson."

"I thought I_ did_ learn my lesson."

That was what Jonathan always said, but he never learned from his numerous mistakes, and Evelyn hated the thought of finding him in a hospital because he got involved with the wrong woman. "I really don't think it's wise of you to linger here longer than necessary," she said. "If this woman is married, you'll only get into trouble."

"I can't leave her, Evy," said Jonathan, looking unusually serious. "I've never seen her husband, but he sounds like the worst sort of rotter and she's absolutely miserable with him. The least I can do is help her get away from the lousy bugger."

"Oh," said Evelyn. She had never heard Jonathan sound so earnest before, at least not over a worthy cause. He could be quite passionate when he wanted to, but it was always _Oh, Evy, of course I don't owe that man money. I paid him last week, I swear it!_ or_ I would never cheat at a game of poker. You know what lying devils these people can be around here!_ If he didn't look and sound so serious, she would have brushed off his story as another drunken ramble, but she was startled to realize that Jonathan actually _cared_ for this married woman of his.

"You've got to let me stay, Evy," Jonathan pleaded. "I'll never ask you for another favor again, I promise."

"We'll stay an extra month," said Evelyn. "Perhaps a month and a half. And you're _sure_ Uncle Oliver is all right with this?"

"Perfectly all right, old mum. Have I ever mentioned that you are the dearest sister I could ask for?"

Evelyn couldn't help but smile as Jonathan gave her a playful pat on the shoulder before wandering out of the parlor, clearly in higher spirits. She had spent so many years worrying about him, wondering if he would ever take some initiative and amount to something, that the smallest bit of improvement—even if it involved defending a married woman he had taken a fancy to—gave her hope. Jonathan's footsteps faded from the room and Evelyn picked up the book she had been reading, determined to finish it before the hour was through, and shuffled through the pages to find the spot she had abandoned.

Her thoughts strayed to Hamunaptra as she read about the ancient artifacts excavated from Egypt's tombs. She had tried to find information on that Meela woman, but she learned nothing aside from her name and couldn't find any record of her in the city, not even an address. Confronting her in her office hadn't worked either, since Meela was nowhere to be found whenever Evelyn tried to seek her out, and Freddie warned her that it was risky to make too many inquiries.

Evelyn turned the page of her book and found a chapter comprised entirely of photographs. The black-and-white pictures couldn't capture the vibrant color of Egypt's history, but Evelyn was fascinated all the same and studied each page with a longing that was so familiar, it barely ached anymore. She reached the last page of the chapter and stared at the photograph in surprise, taken aback by the strange looking bracelet decorated with a scorpion, and read the caption labeling it as the Bracelet of Anubis.

"I've seen this before," Evelyn murmured aloud.

According to the next chapter, the Bracelet of Anubis was a one-of-a-kind piece located in Cairo's Museum of Antiquities, but it was identical to an artifact Evelyn had seen in Hamunaptra. How could that be possible when only _one_ Bracelet of Anubis existed? Was Rick O'Connell right when he claimed that Hamunaptra's artifacts were fake, or was something odd going on?

Evelyn flipped back to the photograph and gazed at it closely, taking in every detail. The book claimed it was made entirely of gold, just like the bracelet she had seen in a display case behind Hamunaptra's bar, and she found it strange that such a seemingly rare artifact would have a fake counterpart in a Chicago speakeasy.

But it _had_ to be a fake. There was no other explanation.


	21. Danger

Danger

Beni should have been enjoying himself. He had checked into a hotel room for the second night in a row without paying a cent, he was currently in bed with Gloria, and he had just settled on top of her when somebody knocked at the door. Again.

"Probably a maid," Gloria murmured. "Let 'em wait."

Whoever was at the door knocked louder, pounding upon the wood with a force that threatened to splinter it. Beni groaned and rolled off of Gloria, unable to ignore the noise, and fumbled around for his scattered pants. "I'm going to tell that person to shut up," he said. "It is probably someone who has the wrong room number."

He quickly pulled on his pants and stuck his gun in the pocket, just in case there was trouble, and made his way to the door without bothering to get dressed properly. His tangle of religious necklaces, which he wore at all times, bounced against his chest as he walked to the door and he prayed that whoever was out in the hallway would leave as soon as possible, preferably without hurting Beni beforehand. He had never been threatened or attacked in a hotel before, but then again, he usually didn't make a habit of renting hotel rooms with women. Most of his women before Gloria stayed shut up in brothels.

"What do you want?" Beni demanded after tugging the door open.

"Are you Beni Gabor?" asked the woman who stood in the hall. She looked completely disarrayed, from the wild curls that fought against their pins to the crooked state of her outfit, and she gazed at Beni with frantic blue eyes.

Beni looked her up and down, a smirk on his lips. "You will have to wait your turn."

"Are you Beni Gabor?" the women repeated impatiently. Either she didn't care that Beni was standing half-naked in front of her, or she was too distraught to notice.

"Yes. Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Rebekah," she said. "I want to know where Levi Rosenberg is."

"I have never heard of him."

"I think you have," said Rebekah. "You were seen talking to Jacob Moritz in Jimmy's restaurant two nights ago. That's the same night that Levi disappeared."

"And you think _I_ had something to do with it?" Beni said with big, innocent eyes. "I would never hurt anyone. I hate violence!"

"I've heard about you, Mr. Gabor. You _know_ what happened to Levi."

"How did you find me, anyway?"

"I followed you and your friend from Hamunaptra," said Rebekah. She noticed Gloria waiting in bed and averted her eyes, gazing uncomfortably at Beni's necklaces instead. "I know you've done something with Levi. Where is he?"

Nobody would ever find Levi Rosenberg's body, thanks to Beni's expertise, and he fought to keep a smirk off his face as he looked at Rebekah with his saddest expression. "I already told you, I have never heard of him. I'm sorry."

He shut the door on Rebekah and returned to the bed, where Gloria lay beneath the blankets watching him. "What was that all about?" she asked.

"Nothing," said Beni. He undid his pants and wished that Rebekah would take a convenient tumble down a long flight of stairs. "I am being accused of a crime I didn't commit."

He got on top of Gloria and finished what they had started, though he didn't enjoy it as much as he should have. He hadn't been home since his latest fight with Roza, when she admitted to having an affair, and he didn't want to deal with her when he had so many other things on his mind, like his reunion with O'Connell. Now he had a new problem with this Rebekah woman, who must be Rosenberg's girlfriend since he didn't have any sisters, and there was no telling what would happen if she didn't keep her mouth shut.

"I still want you to come to that party," Gloria said after Beni had rolled off her a second time. They both lounged in bed smoking cigarettes from the golden case, which she had finally given to Beni the night before.

"What party?" asked Beni.

"The one my sister Margaret is having. I told you about it, remember? Of course, my cousin Jonny will be there, but I won't tell him who you are." Gloria took a drag on her cigarette and blew smoke towards the ceiling, lazy amusement written on her face. "Unless you want me to."

"How big is your cousin Jonny?"

"Not much bigger than you, I'd guess."

"And is he a violent man?"

Gloria laughed. "Jonny couldn't hurt a fly. He'd rather sit around and get completely plastered while somebody else did it."

Beni snickered to himself. Roza was obviously a fool if she thought _that_ sort of man was going to take care of her. "He is a drunk then?"

"I don't want to talk about Jonny," said Gloria. "I want to know if you're coming to the party or not."

"What's in it for me?"

"You'll have the pleasure of distracting me from my dear boring sister and her equally dull fiance."

"It doesn't sound like it is worth my time."

"Then stay home," said Gloria. "I'll just invite somebody else, like that Izzy fellow I met last night. _He_ would keep me from getting too bored."

"You don't want to invite Izzy. He is an idiot."

"Well if I don't invite Izzy, then who am I going to invite? Your friend O'Connell, perhaps?"

"I will go," Beni grumbled. "Will that make you happy?"

Gloria stuck her cigarette on the nearby ashtray and closed her eyes. "I don't care either way, but I'd rather have you along than those other fellows. You'll give my family a wonderful little shock."

Beni was more interested in the heirlooms he could steal from the house when the guests weren't looking, but he wouldn't get to steal anything, let alone English heirlooms, if Rebekah made trouble for him. He put out his cigarette as well and gathered up his clothes so he could dress.

"Leaving so soon?" asked Gloria.

"I have business to take care of," Beni said as he pulled on his pants again.

"The dangerous kind of business?"

"_All_ of my business is dangerous. It is part of the job."

"How exciting. Just don't get killed, or else I'll never forgive you."

Beni put on his shirt and looked at Gloria, who continued to lie with her eyes closed and spoke in a casual tone, as if she had just told Beni not to go grocery shopping that evening. "Oh, and what do _you_ care?" he asked.

"It's not that I care," she said. "I've become awfully used to you, is all, and it's such a bother when I have to break a habit."

"You probably have a lot of other habits. Like your Italian gangsters."

Gloria's eyes flickered open and she watched Beni pull on his suspenders. "I'm bored with Italian gangsters," she said. "They're all the same, anyway."

"Then you've got other gangsters, I bet."

"Oh, no. They _all_ bore me. Would you believe me if I said you're the only man I've been with since we met?"

"I would not blame you if I was," Beni said with a smug little smile.

"Well it's true. You should consider yourself lucky, because no man has ever been with me more than twice."

Beni grabbed his hat and jacket from off the coat rack and put them on, aware that Gloria watched him the entire time. "I'll be back," he said, eying her bare shoulders that peeked above the blankets. "You will have to remind me of how lucky I am."

He left the hotel with his usual amount of caution and took a bus through the brightly lit city, hating Jacob Moritz and Levi Rosenberg and every other Jewish crook as the bus took him to an apartment he could never afford, thanks to the scanty pay he got for the occasional killings he performed. What was the point of joining a criminal organization if he wasn't going to get rich? Imhotep hadn't done anything for months, but he was probably in a mansion somewhere in Egypt, surrounded by fancy women and riches fit for a prince.

The bus dropped him off on the sidewalk and Beni entered the apartment, which was always a pain in the ass because the doorman found his appearance distasteful, and traveled up a few floors until he reached the door he wanted. He tried the doorknob first, just in case it had been left unlocked, then sighed and pounded upon the door.

Five minutes passed before Meela opened it and stared at him coolly, her dark eyes unreadable. "If you've been shot again, then go to a hospital," she said. "I'm not your nurse."

"I haven't been shot," said Beni. "Let me in."

"This had better be important." Meela stepped aside and kept a careful watch on Beni as he entered the apartment, which was ridiculous since he knew better than to steal from his boss's home. She would probably have him castrated.

"What do you have to drink?" Beni asked. He removed his fedora and made himself comfortable on the sofa, the same one he had lain on while recovering from his shoulder wound.

"Nothing," said Meela. She perched herself on a nearby chair, one leg crossed tightly over the other, and looked at Beni with all the haughtiness of an Egyptian queen. "Either tell me why you're here or get out."

Beni let out a whiny sigh. "Some Jewish bitch is saying I hurt her boyfriend."

"And did you?" said Meela.

"Of course not! She is getting me mixed up with someone else."

"That's an awfully hard thing to do. Nobody else in this city has your unique brand of ugliness."

"I am hurt that you would say that," said Beni. "After all I have done for you!"

"What's the name of this woman?" asked Meela, ignoring him.

"Rebekah. I don't know her last name. She blames me for the disappearance of a man named Levi Rosenberg and might tell the police."

"I don't remember asking you to kill a man named Levi Rosenberg."

Beni gazed at her with the same wide-eyed innocence he had given Rebekah. "Of course not. That's because I didn't kill him! But I'll be in a lot of trouble if this Jew bitch goes to the cops and tries blaming me."

"Well what do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know, give the police some money or whatever it is you do to stay out of trouble."

Meela sat like a statue and watched him with her dark eyes, looking into his face in a way that made Beni uncomfortable. "I'll pay off the cops," she said. "But I'm doing it for myself, not you. I don't want any heat."

"Oh, thank you," said Beni, grinning at her with relief. "You have no idea how worried I was."

"Just try not to attract any more trouble," said Meela. "And remember, Beni. If you ever betray me, I'll personally kill you."


	22. Intoxication

**Author's Note:** I was paid a visit by the dreaded Writer's Block and still haven't fully recovered, so this chapter is rather short (and not very good, to be honest), but hey, it's an update!

* * *

Intoxication

"Do you know anything about that bracelet over there?"

Rick usually found English accents ridiculous, uptight, and snooty, the kind of accents that belonged to a world he had no use for, but Evelyn's voice didn't grate on his ears. And for once she didn't sound like a know-it-all. She sat on a bar stool beside Rick, her long dark hair gathered up behind her head, and she ignored her lemonade in favor of staring past the bar counter, her brow furrowed with curiosity as she studied the large gold bracelet that sat in a display case.

Rick didn't think it was a very attractive bracelet, but then again, he had never liked scorpions, and this particular bracelet had been decorated with a huge gold scorpion that glittered beneath its glass case. "No, I don't know anything about it," he told Evelyn. "Do you?"

"Well I wouldn't have asked you if I did."

"Are you telling me there's something about ancient Egypt that you _don't_ know?"

She tore her gaze from the scorpion bracelet and looked at Rick, her curiosity turning to mild annoyance. "I never once pretended to know everything, Mr. O'Connell."

"Rick," he said.

"What?"

"You can call me Rick. We've been through this a million times."

"Rick, then," said Evelyn, surrendering. "I never once pretended to know everything and besides, discovery is the whole purpose of Egyptology in the first place. Without the prospect of discovery, we would never learn anything new."

Evelyn herself was quite a discovery, which became more apparent every time Rick met her in Hamunaptra, and the more he learned about her the more he realized that he ought to keep his distance. She and her cousin Freddie weren't his kind of people, after all. He wasn't used to English people with fancy English names like Evelyn Carnahan and Frederick Milton; in fact, he wasn't used to so-called "decent" people at all, if his friendship with Beni and Izzy was anything to go by, but it was hard to avoid Evelyn when jail had deprived him of women for three long years.

"So what's so special about that bracelet over there?" he asked.

Winston bustled behind the counter, hiding the bracelet with his bulk as he carried a cocktail in each hand, and Evelyn focused her gaze back on the bracelet as soon as Winston stepped aside. "It's the Bracelet of Anubis," she said quietly.

"I thought you didn't know anything about it."

"I don't, aside from its name. I was reading a book on Cairo's Museum of Antiquities and found a photograph of it."

"So what's it doing here?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out, Mr. O— Rick," said Evelyn, stumbling a bit over his given name. "The most obvious answer is that _this_ particular Bracelet of Anubis is a copy of the original, though I find it rather odd that an establishment like this would contain an exact replica of a very rare artifact. There's only one Bracelet of Anubis, you see, and I don't understand how that Meela woman could have obtained a copy unless she's connected with the museum."

"Well it obviously isn't the real thing," said Rick. "We're in a speakeasy in Chicago."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that. I'm also aware of the disreputable nature of the people who run these places."

Rick shook his head in disbelief and lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "What, you think it was stolen?"

"It's possible, isn't it? It would explain how curiously authentic the rest of the artifacts seem."

"You know what?" said Rick. "I think I'll buy you a drink."

"I've already got my lemonade right here."

"I mean a _real_ drink. A cocktail."

Evelyn stared at him, her attention pulled from the strange bracelet, and let out a polite little laugh that immediately got lost among the noise of Hamunaptra. "Mr.— I mean, Rick, I don't believe that's a very good idea. I can't hold my liquor to save my life."

"One cocktail isn't gonna kill you."

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder at Freddie, who was chatting with a woman at a far table and seemed to trust Rick enough to leave him alone with his cousin, then sighed. "Oh, all right, then. But only _one_ cocktail."

One cocktail turned into a second cocktail, which turned into a third cocktail, which led to Evelyn telling Rick far more about her personal life than he ever expected to learn. "—my Aunt Lydia is Father's sister, you know, and she does have the most magnificent children, but Margaret and Gloria can be so... so... oh bother, what is the word? Judgmental! That's it! They can be so judgmental. They think I'm a dreadful bore because I won't cut my hair like they do."

Rick had never seen Evelyn's hair out of its sensible bun, but he supposed it would look nice if it hung loose around her shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with your hair."

Evelyn looked at him with shining eyes. "You really think so?"

Rick shrugged. "Yeah."

"You really, truly, really think so?"

"Sure."

Evelyn smiled, a free and easy grin so different from her usual reserved smiles, and asked Winston for another cocktail.

"Haven't you had enough?" said Rick. "Your cousin'll kill me if you get any drunker."

"Oh, Freddie is harmless. And besides, I'm not even drunk!"

"Better hold off on that cocktail," Rick told Winston, who stood behind the bar watching them with a gleam in his eyes. He shouldn't have let Evelyn drink more than two cocktails in the first place, since she obviously wasn't much of a drinker, but after finishing the first drink she had insisted on more, and Rick knew better than to argue with a woman.

"Rick, would you mind terribly if I asked you a favor?" said Evelyn. His name rolled off her tongue without any effort.

"No," said Rick. "What is it?"

"Margaret is having a party and—"

"Oh, no," Rick cut in. "I don't think so."

"I haven't even finished speaking."

"You want me to go to this party of your cousin's. It's obvious."

"Why, you're smarter than you look!" Evelyn said with a delighted laugh. "And here I was thinking you were nothing but an... an... well the word escapes me, but you _are_ clever. How marvelous! Which is why I quite _insist_ on inviting you to this party."

Rick didn't want to go to some party thrown by Evelyn's rich English relatives, where he would undoubtedly spend hours feeling out of place among strangers. He didn't want to walk into a shop and find something respectable to wear. He _definitely _didn't want to get further involved with a woman who would return to England in a couple of months.

Rick ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "When's the party?"

"Two nights from now," said Evelyn.

Two nights. It had been two nights since Rick met Beni and resumed their somewhat reluctant friendship, two nights since he discovered that women like Gloria failed to hold his interest, two nights since Daniels started behaving like an ass. Or at least more of an ass than usual.

"I'll be there," said Rick, going against his better judgment. "Where do your cousins live, anyway?"

He could definitely use a break.


	23. Disruption

**Author's Note:** The very beginning of this chapter is based on a conversation in the movie _Pulp Fiction_. I happened to be watching it and inspiration randomly struck.

* * *

Disruption

"Beni, when you came to my apartment, did you see a sign that says I'm looking for a roommate?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You heard me," said Meela, watching him fidget under her stern gaze. "Did you see a sign that says I'm looking for a roommate?"

Beni let out a whiny little laugh. "No, of course not."

"How extraordinary. Can you imagine _why_ you didn't see that sign?"

"No. Why?"

"Because there _is_ no sign," said Meela. "So don't fool yourself into thinking you can make yourself at home."

"Meela, come _on._ I have got no place to go."

Meela scoffed at that. She hadn't been able to get rid of the little weasel, ever since he came whining to her about that Jewish woman who said he killed her boyfriend, and it was harder to throw him out of her apartment now that his gunshot wound was healing nicely. Beni lounged on the sofa with one suspender falling carelessly off his shoulder, a bottle from Meela's liquor cabinet clutched in one hand, and had been listening to a radio program until Meela shut it off and asked him to leave for the fiftieth time. Her only consolation was that he hadn't tried to sleep with her.

"Why don't you go to your rich girlfriend you were bragging about earlier?" she asked, frowning as he drained the bottle in his hand.

Beni wiped his mouth and sneered at her. "I don't want to spend all my time with her. And she is not my girlfriend."

"She's a smart woman, then."

"Oh yes, she is very smart. She does whatever I ask her, unlike other women I know."

"Then why didn't you ask _her_ to pay off the cops for you?"

"Because I needed someplace to hide, that's why."

Meela stood by the radio with her arms crossed in front of her chest, annoyed at the pitiful tone in Beni's voice. He acted so pathetic all the time, like a helpless child, and anyone who didn't know better would think he really _was _helpless. "I don't see why you can't go home," said Meela. "I already made sure the cops won't touch you."

"That Rebekah woman might come after me," Beni whined. "She probably knows where I live."

"You're even more of a coward than I thought."

"Better to be a coward than a dead man."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're a coward."

Beni sighed, as if Meela's very presence caused him all the suffering in the world, and got up to turn the radio back on, but Meela was faster and swatted him away. "You never let me have any fun!" Beni complained, looking at her with his big, pathetic eyes. "How can you be so cruel to a man who's been shot?"

"You look like you're recovering perfectly fine, Beni."

"Well my shoulder still hurts sometimes. I need to take my mind off the pain."

"Why don't you take a bath?" said Meela. "You need one."

Beni stood close to her, with only the radio separating the two of them, and replaced his pouting with a leer that made Meela want to smack him. "You obviously don't want me to leave that badly, or else you would have forced me out."

"Go take a bath," Meela repeated.

"Make me."

"You're the most childish man I've ever met."

"If I am so childish, then why do you pay me to do your dirty work?"

Meela just glared at him and walked away, tired of the conversation, and stalked off to the kitchen to make herself a drink. She could hear Beni grumbling to himself in Hungarian, or whatever language he found most suitable to abuse her in, and soon she heard a door slam shut in the distance. The sound of running water told her that Beni was in the bath, proof that she hadn't lost her touch after all, and Meela felt victorious as she sat in an armchair with her drink in her hand, taking advantage of the temporary silence. It wouldn't be long until Beni was out of her hair, since he said he was going to a party tomorrow night, and Meela decided that tomorrow was the night she would pay that visit she had been trying to avoid.

She hated asking Dr. Chamberlain for favors, mainly because Dr. Chamberlain hated _doing_ favors, and he made no secret of his contempt for Meela. Imhotep was the one who had bought his allegiance, just as Imhotep was the one who persuaded Beni to work for them, and Chamberlain only obeyed Meela because he knew Imhotep was still in charge, despite Imhotep's long absence in Egypt. Telephones made her paranoid, since she was always afraid that somebody would hear her and call the police, which left her with the task of seeing Chamberlain in person and playing the distasteful role of dutiful female.

But if she didn't do it, Hamunaptra could fall.

Baltus Hafez, her personal spy, had done some eavesdropping and informed her that a woman had been making some unwanted inquiries. Inquiries about the artifacts in Hamunaptra, particularly a gold scorpion bracelet, and Meela couldn't afford to have inquisitive people poking their noses around. This woman could be working for the police, for all Meela knew, and not all cops could be bought off.

She finished her drink and put the empty glass in the kitchen, then checked to make sure that Beni was still in the bathroom. If assassins weren't so hard to replace, she would gladly drown him in the tub. Left with nothing else to do, Meela returned to the front room and turned on the radio, a luxury item she never got to enjoy when she lived in Egypt, and let a slow jazz tune fill the apartment.

She thought she heard knocking and quickly shut the radio off, tense and alert. The knocking came again, louder this time, and Meela swore under her breath as she walked across the room and opened the door.

"Are you Meela Nais?"

The man who stood in Meela's doorway was tall and dark-haired, dressed in black robes that would probably get him laughed at if he ventured onto the streets. The black tattoos that decorated his face only increased his likelihood of unwanted attention.

Meela didn't answer his question. "Who are you?"

"I need to know if you are Meela Nais," said the man, gazing at her with a calm intensity that infuriated her.

"Yes, I am," said Meela. "Who are you and where did you get this address?"

"My name is Ardeth," he said. "I have brought someone who might be familiar to you."

Two other men approached the doorway, dressed in the same black robes as Ardeth, and pushed a third man towards Meela. This third man couldn't move or speak, since his wrists were bound and his mouth had been gagged, but the hatred that burned in his eyes was enough to express how he felt about his captors. Meela forgot her dignity and threw herself upon him, stroking his shaved head with her hand while Ardeth hovered by and watched.

"Imhotep!"

"So you _do_ recognize him," said Ardeth.

"What have you done to him?" Meela demanded.

"It is better if Imhotep informs you himself."

Meela was vaguely aware that Beni's jacket and fedora were hanging on the coat rack, and that Beni himself had been using the bathroom, but she wasn't prepared when Beni came walking into the front room completely naked.

"Hey Meela, I—" Beni's smirk disappeared the moment he saw Meela's visitors and he immediately clapped his hands over himself. "Oh, shit."


	24. Misfortune

Misfortune

"Who is this?"

Beni stared at the strange tattooed man who had just spoken, unable to think up a smart reply for once in his life. He didn't know which was worse—the presence of this stranger, or the fact that Imhotep was back in Chicago—and looked helplessly at Meela, forgetting all about his plan to shock her with his nudity. His lack of clothes only made him feel vulnerable.

"He's nobody," said Meela, waving a dismissive hand in Beni's direction. She looked cold and haughty as she stared at the stranger, who stood near the front door with a couple of black-robed cronies lurking nearby. "Now what have you done to Imhotep?"

Beni slowly backed away, hoping that everyone would forget about him, and couldn't help but smirk at the sight of Imhotep standing beside Meela, bound and gagged like a helpless animal. The tattooed man, who was even more hopeless than Imhotep when it came to facial expressions, looked at Meela with all the blankness of a concrete wall.

"Imhotep is unharmed," he said.

"I can see that for myself. Why have you brought him here?"

"He is a danger to my country. I thought it best to return him to a land that is already corrupt."

Imhotep scowled at the tattooed man, powerless as long as his wrists were tied together. Beni watched him and realized that if Imhotep's wrists hadn't been bound, he would probably have killed Beni by now. The last time he was caught naked in a woman's home was years ago in Hungary, before he married Roza, and he made good use of the window before the woman's angry husband could fire any bullets. Of course, the police picked him up for wandering the streets naked, but it was better than getting shot.

Meela said something in reply to the stranger, but Beni wasn't listening anymore. He crept closer and closer to the nearest window, trying to be as silent as possible, and nearly whimpered aloud when he looked through the glass and saw the street below, littered with dozens of tiny dot-sized people. He had forgotten that Meela lived up on the tenth floor.

"Beni, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Meela had noticed him at last and Beni let out a nervous laugh, avoiding Imhotep's irritable gaze. "I was just hoping for some fresh air."

"Get over here."

"I _can't_," Beni whined. "I am naked."

"Well you should have gotten dressed before coming out here."

"You are the one who made me take a bath."

"Find your clothes and get dressed, Beni," said Meela, sounding sterner than usual. Though she tried to hide it with her cold exterior, she couldn't mask the anxiety that showed in her eyes, and she clenched her hands into tight fists as the tattooed man continued to stand in her apartment, his mouth set in a grim, quiet line.

"Yes, Your Highness," Beni said mockingly, then scurried off so he could grab his clothes.

He got dressed slowly, positioning himself in a place where he could eavesdrop on Meela and her unexpected guests. The man with the tattoos—Ardeth, he said his name was—let Meela remove the gag from Imhotep's mouth and requested that they speak in Arabic, just in case Beni was listening.

Beni grinned as he pulled on his shirt. They all thought they were so smart, agreeing to converse in Arabic, but Beni could understand every word. He never bothered telling Meela and Imhotep about this particular talent, since it gave him the perfect chance to eavesdrop on them repeatedly, and Ardeth had no problem speaking freely once Meela assured him that Beni couldn't understand their language.

"_Tell her what you were seeking_," Ardeth told Imhotep in Arabic. Beni buttoned his shirt and strained his ears to catch every word.

"_She already knows_," Imhotep said stiffly.

"_But does she know of your true purpose?"_

"_Of course I know of his true purpose," _said Meela. _"I know everything about his business."_

Imhotep was a skilled counterfeiter. He had robbed museums all over the world, switching valuable artifacts with the replicas he created, and Beni knew that Egyptian artifacts were his specialty. Imhotep had territory all over Chicago, which included gambling dens and brothels along with his prized speakeasy, but counterfeiting was at the heart of his kingdom.

"_This is not a business matter," _Ardeth said in response in Meela.

"_I know _everything_ about Imhotep's affairs," _Meela insisted. _"Whether it's business or not."_

"_So you know of his quest for eternal life."_

Beni couldn't suppress a gasp as he pulled on his suspenders. He had always known that Imhotep was ambitious, but eternal life?

"_Where is your guest?" _said Ardeth, making Beni freeze where he stood. "_The one without any clothes? He has taken a suspicious amount of time getting dressed."_

"_He can't understand us," _said Meela.

"_How can you be so sure?"_

Beni tried to hide, but Meela grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away, ignoring his squeals of protest. "Out," she said coldly, shoving him towards the door.

"I haven't put on my hat or jacket—"

"Out!" Meela repeated. She yanked open the door and pushed Beni into the hall, then slammed the door and locked it.

Beni swore and slunk down the hall, hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers. He hated walking around without his fedora to shield his face and the night was getting late, which meant it would be _cold_ out there in the streets. He would freeze to death in nothing but his shirtsleeves. And who the hell was this Ardeth anyway? Arabs weren't common in Chicago; in fact, Beni was pretty sure that Meela, Imhotep, and Hassan, the man who worked in the rug shop, were the only three Arabs in the city, which made Ardeth stand out to the point of absurdity, especially with those black robes and ridiculous tattoos. He may not have tried to hurt Beni, but Beni didn't trust a man who could demolish years' worth of business.

Imhotep and Meela were careful to keep their names out of the newspapers, unlike the Italian mobsters who constantly gunned each other down in the streets, giving the city a bad name. This Ardeth person could destroy their reputations, which meant nothing to Beni except for the fact that their ruined reputations would ruin _Beni_ as well.

None of the other gangs were willing to take him in. The wops were obsessed with heritage, hating to join forces with anyone who wasn't Italian, or even _Sicilian_ for that matter, though that idiot Capone was a Neapolitan. The wop bastards thought they were such big shots with their Joe Masseria and Lucky Luciano in New York, and their Johnny Torrio and Al Capone in Chicago, but they would never have Beni's respect.

And forget the Jews. The Jews saw Beni as a scapegoat and thought they could turn the tables since _their_ people had been scapegoats for centuries. The moment they found somebody lower on the ladder, like Beni, they pushed him around and paid him minimum wage for doing their dirty work. And it wasn't as if the Jews were so bad off in America. Didn't they have their precious Arnold Rothstein, every gangster's hero? Didn't they have a significant share of the bootlegging business? Why did they have to pick on guys like Beni?

Beni stepped out of the apartment and into the streets, where a cold wind bit through his shirt and made him shiver. If Meela wanted him to get dressed so badly, then she could have at least had the decency to let him finish. And where would he go, now that Meela had thrown him out into the cold? He could always go home, but he wasn't in the mood for fighting with Roza, and he didn't feel like spending his hard-earned money on a hotel room. That left him with spending the night in a brothel, which would also cost money, or sneaking into Gloria's big fancy house without the housemaid seeing him.

Only an idiot would choose the brothel. Beni stopped shivering and hailed himself a cab.


	25. Amusement

Amusement

"I want a new jacket. And a new hat."

If any other man had made such a random request, Gloria would have brushed him off and told him to get his own damn clothes, but Beni wasn't like any other man. He had a certain pathetic quality that made everything he did seem outrageously funny, and he looked like the poorest, most miserable wretch who ever lived as he sat on her bed with a mournful expression on his thin face. Gloria could hardly believe she enjoyed sleeping with him.

"What do you think this is?" she said, sitting casually in her armchair. "A department store?"

Beni shifted position on the bed and leaned against the pillows, looking even more pathetic in his effort to get comfortable. "I lost my hat and jacket," he said, as if it was the greatest tragedy in the world. "Can't you buy me some new ones?"

"I've got a Sears catalog lying around somewhere. Buy 'em yourself."

"I can't read your stupid American catalog."

"Really, now." Gloria sat up straighter in her armchair, delighted with this bit of news. "You can't read at all?"

"Who cares if I can't? Reading does not put food in your mouth."

"Is it only English you can't read? Or— what's that native language of yours called again?"

"Hungarian, and I cannot read that either."

"How marvelous," said Gloria. "You really _are_ the most wretched man I've ever met."

"You are cruel," Beni whined. "I should have spent my hard-earned money on a hotel room instead."

"Nonsense. I'm glad you came to see me."

Gloria had planned to pester Freddie and see if she could borrow his car that evening, but her plan went out the window when Beni came sneaking into her bedroom, like an old homeless dog seeking shelter for the night. He immediately made himself at home on her bed and asked for something to eat, which amused Gloria so much that she denied his request, wanting to know how long he would beg.

"When are you going to feed me?" Beni asked on cue. "I'm starving."

"I'll feed you when I feel like it," said Gloria.

"And when is that?"

"Gloria?" Somebody tapped lightly at the door, shattering the privacy within. "I hear voices. Who's there?"

"Nobody, Margaret," Gloria said with a sigh. "I was listening to a record."

Beni started snickering and didn't bother to muffle it.

"Oh," said Margaret. "Well make sure you don't go sneaking out tomorrow, will you? I need you to help set up for the party."

Gloria didn't respond and waited for Margaret's footsteps to disappear, then searched her pockets for a pack of cigarettes. She couldn't find one.

"Why did you lie to her?" Beni asked. "I thought you did not care what anyone thought."

"I _don't_ care," said Gloria. "I'm waiting to show you off at the party, so I can shock everybody at once. Margaret will be furious."

"And what about your idiot cousin? Will he be at the party?"

"Oh, probably. From the way he carries on about her, I think he's in love with your harpy of a wife. _Madly_ in love."

Beni snickered again. "He's an even bigger idiot than I thought."

"You're not so bright yourself, getting married to her in the first place."

"That is none of your business. And I'm still hungry."

Gloria got up and cracked her bedroom door open, checking to see if Margaret was lurking about, then led Beni to the kitchen and got him some bread and jam, just like her childhood nanny used to do when Gloria wanted a snack before bed. Sometimes she thought about finding an apartment of her own, which would save her from having to sneak around in the dark, but then she would have to take care of herself and that was _such_ a bother. Moving in with a man was also out of the question, since she would only grow bored with him and long to move out.

Beni stood at the kitchen counter, his eyes darting around nervously as he scarfed down the bread and jam, and Gloria wondered what kind of life he had lived to make him so jumpy. She wondered why he kept coming to _her_ door when he had a home of his own and a wife to feed him, even if his wife was nothing but a shrew who nagged and threw things. The woman couldn't be _that_ bad if Beni had married her, could she?

"What do you think of me, Beni?" Gloria asked as Beni licked jam off his fingers, determined to get every bit.

He swallowed the jam and eyed her suspiciously. "What do you think of _me_?"

"You already know what I think of you. You're delightfully funny."

"That is all? I'm just a funny guy?"

"You're a nice bedmate too, if that makes you feel better."

"I still want a new jacket," said Beni, frowning at her. "And a new hat. I cannot be funny if I am cold all the time."

"It isn't cold in here, silly. A little air won't kill you."

"If I am a funny guy, then you are a heartless bitch," Beni retorted. He wiped his hands on a nearby towel and glanced around with greedy eyes, no doubt looking for a drink to wash down his snack.

"Would a heartless person take you in and feed you?" said Gloria. "I'm willing to bet that I'm the most generous person you know, Beni."

"You only help me because you think I am funny. What is so damn funny about me?"

"You're not _always_ funny," said Gloria. She stepped closer to Beni and put an arm around his waist, then leaned in and kissed him. "Sometimes you're just plain _fun_."

Beni grabbed her and took control, kissing her with the particular neediness that only an urchin was capable of, and Gloria decided that going slumming was the only way to go. Men of her own class thought they could patronize everyone and impress them with their intellect, but lower-class men didn't have that privilege. Beni couldn't even read, let alone patronize someone.

"So you think this is fun," said Beni, grinning at her as his hand traveled closer and closer to her backside.

"Oh, yes," she said. "The most fun I've had in my life."

"Good God, Gloria. What the devil do you think you're doing?"

Gloria pulled away from Beni and found Freddie standing a few feet away, completely flabbergasted. Beni tensed like a startled deer and stared at Freddie with big eyes, looking ready to run the moment Freddie stopped blocking the exit.

"I'm merely enjoying myself, dear brother," said Gloria, meeting Freddie's startled eyes with her own calm ones. "Why don't you do us a favor and move along?"

"What is that man doing in our house? It's perfectly all right to go into the street, but bringing the street into our home is out of the question, Gloria. What would Mother do if she saw him?"

"It doesn't matter what Mother would do. She's upstairs in her bedroom, minding her own business."

"Your sister is very kind, sir," Beni spoke up, looking at Freddie with the most pathetic face Gloria had seen on him yet. "My apartment was destroyed by a fire and I have got no place to go."

"Oh, I see the situation now," said Freddie, addressing Gloria. "You've decided to be a good citizen for once in your life and be charitable to the poor and unfortunate. Yet I was never aware that charity included taking such poor and unfortunate souls to the kitchen and letting them have their way with you."

"Why do you care, anyway?" said Gloria. "You never care about anything I do."

Freddie had always found her useless, ever since they were children, and the more she misbehaved the more he ignored her, which always came in handy when she wanted to avoid trouble with their parents. Discovering her in the kitchen with Beni, however, appeared to be an entirely different matter.

"I don't give a rat's pathetic _whisker_ what you do, since you're going to ruin yourself whether I care or not," said Freddie. "But bringing unsavory men into the house is where I draw the line. If you want to do your Christian duty and take care of the unfortunate, then bring home a stray cat."

"Good night, Freddie," said Gloria, dismissing him with a bored look. "I'm going back up to my room and Beni comes with me."

"I want him out of the house by morning," Freddie said, but Gloria ignored him and grabbed Beni by the arm, dragging him past her brother and back upstairs to the second floor, which was thankfully empty.

"I am glad I don't have a brother," Beni remarked as she took him into her bedroom and shut the door.

"I wish he and Margaret would _both_ get married and move out of the house," said Gloria. "Freddie acts so high-and-mighty all the time, thinking he's so wonderfully clever, but he's really just full of himself. He's always saying that he could have gone to Oxford if he wasn't so concerned about staying close to the family, but Oxford didn't even accept him. I saw the rejection letter."

"What is Oxford?" said Beni.

"Oh, never mind." Gloria kicked off her shoes and sank down onto the bed, dragging Beni with her. "Let's finish what we started, shall we?"


	26. Control

**Author's Note:** Just for clarification, the italicized words indicate that the characters are speaking English. Anything non-italicized means the characters are speaking Hungarian.

* * *

Control

"Hello, my darling."

She had been waiting for this moment. She had waited all night on the battered old sofa, her new treasure clutched in one hand, and the moment she heard the front door open she jerked awake, ready for him. The moment he came stumbling into the apartment, reeking of perfume and alcohol, she raised the barrel of her borrowed gun and pointed it at his chest, right at his black heart.

Roza had waited too long for this moment.

"Roza!" Beni cried, his voice practically a squeak as he stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. "Wh-what are you doing?" He looked tired, judging from the dark circles under his eyes, and he was missing his hat and jacket.

"I've been waiting for you, my dear," Roza said sweetly. "Where have you been all this time?"

"Put the gun down, Roza!"

For the first time since she had met him, Beni sounded afraid of her, and Roza liked seeing him stand there with those big, helpless eyes, paralyzed with fear as he stared at the barrel of her gun. All this time she thought she needed him, just because he spoke her language and let her live under his roof, but there was a whole other world outside of Beni Gabor and his pathetic hold on her life. Roza put her finger on the trigger.

"I want an annulment," she said.

Beni never took his eyes off the gun. He practically trembled where he stood, intimidated by his own wife, and Roza had never been more aware of how pathetic he was. "You wouldn't really shoot me," he said in a panicky voice. "Not your own husband!"

"I want an annulment," Roza repeated. "Or else I'll tell the police what you do for a living."

"Fine, fine. Just put the gun down!"

Roza had spent years depending on this coward for food, shelter, and security, tolerating his cruel remarks and neglect, and it would be so easy to finish him off for good. Just a couple of bullets in the chest and Beni would be gone, unable to ruin anyone else's life. It would be so easy, and yet how could she live with herself if she stooped to his level?

Roza lowered the gun.

Beni's shoulders drooped with relief and he heaved his usual whiny sigh, the one he used when he thought the whole world had treated him unfairly. "You can't stay here if we get an annulment," he said. "The apartment is mine."

"I don't want your shithole of an apartment."

"I won't give you any money either."

"I don't want your dirty money."

Bolder now that his life had been spared, Beni gave her a mocking little smile. "What will you do then? Whore yourself out like you did during the war?"

In the old days Roza would have slapped him across the face. Instead she heaved a sigh of her own, keeping one hand on the gun in her lap, and reminded herself that freedom was around the corner. "Why are you even here, Beni? Don't you have a mistress to stay with?"

"Her sister found me and threw me out of the house."

"That doesn't surprise me."

Beni scoffed at her and shuffled over to a chair, just as old and battered as the sofa, and made the tired springs creak as he sat down. He still kept his eyes on the gun, half-expecting her to raise the barrel and fire a round into his wicked heart. "What about _you_?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. "Where is that idiot Jonathan? Is he asleep in my bed?"

"How do you know his name?" Roza demanded.

"I have my way of finding these things out. How the hell did you seduce an Englishman anyway? Your English is bad."

"I know more than you think."

"Well tell him to get out of my bed. I'm exhausted."

Roza raised the gun and pointed it back at his chest. "I want to request the annulment first, and then you can sleep."

"Oh, come on. It is seven o'clock in the morning." Despite his complaining, Beni looked panicked once more. "And I know you won't shoot me."

"How do you know I won't shoot you?"

"Because I know you. You probably can't even fire that thing."

"Would you like me to prove that I can?"

"All right, all right!" Beni said quickly. "You will get your damn annulment." He glanced around the shabby apartment, looking like an escaped convict seeking shelter, and spotted the half-empty bottle of scotch whiskey that Jonathan had brought from his uncle's liquor cabinet. "But first I want a drink."

Beni never asked for anything. Even now, while Roza threatened him with a loaded gun, he didn't have the manners to ask if he could drink from a bottle that didn't belong to him, and he didn't seem to care if it was only seven in the morning. Beni had spent his whole life taking what he could get, focusing on his own wants before anything else, and Roza pitied him because he didn't know any better. Once upon a time she had been drawn to Beni because she thought they were alike, but she wouldn't be ruled by such selfishness any longer.

"Take your drink," she said. "But do it quickly."

A door creaked open just as Beni got up from his chair to grab the bottle, and tired footsteps padded out to the front room. "_I thought I heard voices_," Jonathan said as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. "_Is something the—_" He stopped rubbing his eyes and noticed Beni, who stood nearby with the bottle in his hand, taking a greedy gulp of liquor. "_Great bloody Scott_."

Startled, Beni took the bottle from his lips and spat out the whiskey, spraying Jonathan right in the face. "_So this is the idiot who is screwing my wife_," he said in English.

Roza set the gun on the sofa and groaned. "Beni, get out."

"_Look, I don't want any trouble here,_" said Jonathan. He seemed more bewildered than angry at having whiskey spat in his face. "_I didn't know your wife was married, for starters! Why don't we settle this like gentlemen and—"_

"_You can keep her,"_ Beni said with a sneer. "_She can be _your_ pain in the ass instead of mine."_

"_Beni and I ask for annulment_," Roza told Jonathan. "_Today_."

"_Well._" Jonathan wiped at his face with his shirt sleeve, still a little bewildered but obviously relieved. "_Glad to know there won't be any, uh, fisticuffs. Though you _are_ a scoundrel," _he added to Beni, making an attempt at bravado.

Beni ignored him and took another swig from the bottle.

Roza should have known that Beni wouldn't make trouble if he ever encountered Jonathan. It proved that he really, truly didn't care about her. She got up from the sofa and placed the gun into Jonathan's hand, since he was the one who had "borrowed" it from his uncle's study upon her request, and turned back to Beni. "Let's get that annulment."

He clutched the bottle to his chest with a possessiveness that wearied her. "Fine."

"_I be back soon_," Roza told Jonathan, giving him a nervous smile.

"_I _will_ be back soon, love," _he corrected gently.

If all went according to plan, she would no longer be Roza Gabor, but a free woman at last.


	27. Chatter

Chatter

"See that fellow over there?"

"Which one?"

"The one by the punch bowl. He looks like Shoeless Joe Jackson."

Rick tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his borrowed suit and followed Izzy's gaze to the punch bowl, where a single man stood with a glass in his hand. "Who?"

"You know, the baseball player," said Izzy, gesturing with the breadstick clutched in his hand. "Played for the White Sox 'til he was banned from the big league. Pretty good hitter for a white chap."

"I don't follow baseball."

Baseball was the furthest thing from Rick's mind as he stood in the spacious Milton home, surrounded by well-dressed party guests who milled about with perfect ease, chatting about a thousand topics that went over Rick's head. He preferred the dark, unpredictable nature of the speakeasy, where people gathered together for the common purpose of law-breaking, and he absently grabbed a deviled egg from off the appetizer table. He had been in the house for less than five minutes and already felt caged.

"An old roommate of mine lost three hundred bucks betting on the Sox back in '19," Izzy was saying. "Had no idea the game was fixed. Good thing _I_ didn't bet, 'cause with my luck I would have lost every penny I own. And it probably would have been _your_ fault somehow."

"Remind me why I invited you," said Rick.

"Cause of my dashing good looks and way with words, of course. And it ain't every day that the likes of you and me set foot in a joint like this. Pretty swanky, eh?"

"Yeah. Swanky," Rick echoed, wincing as a woman with a pearl necklace let out an ear-splitting laugh nearby. "Why'd you bring a trumpet?"

Izzy lowered his voice. "It's part of my grand disguise. These people will throw me into the street unless they think I'm part of a jazz band."

"I don't see a jazz band anywhere."

"I'm a _one-man_ jazz band. People love that sort of thing."

"Do you have to wear the eye patch?"

"I'm gonna tell everyone I'm blind in one eye. People love that sort of thing too."

"They love blindness?"

"No, no. They love a brave, valiant charity case who's got musical talent in spite of a bad eye. You really need to get out more, O'Connell." Izzy paused to wipe his trumpet with the underside of his shirt, polishing the handle. "Do you think Shoeless Joe will give me his autograph if I play him a quick tune?"

"I don't think that's Shoeless Joe," said Rick.

"How do you know? Have you ever seen him?"

"Have _you_?"

"Sure I have! I've seen his picture on baseball cards."

"Mr. O— I mean, Rick. There you are."

Rick had never been more relieved to hear Evelyn Carnahan's voice. She wore her hair loose that evening, letting it fall across her shoulders in thick, dark waves, and she seemed unaware that she stood apart from all the other women with their bobbed hair and flashy dresses. She was simple and subdued, without any bright colors or expensive jewelry, and yet Rick thought she was the most elegant woman in the house.

"Hi," he said, suddenly feeling tongue-tied. "Done any, uh, ancient research lately?"

"Not while Margaret is on the watch, I'm afraid," said Evelyn. "That's her over there, in the pink dress."

She pointed to a woman who sat across the room, laughing and talking with Burns, Henderson, and a few young women. She resembled her sister Gloria, though Margaret's hair was a much lighter shade of blonde and she appeared more animated, as if her surroundings fascinated her rather than bored her. Burns looked nervous and kept fiddling with his glasses.

"Hey, O'Connell," said Izzy, nudging Rick with the end of his trumpet. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Introduce you to who?"

"Your lovely lady friend here! Who else?"

"Why hello," said Evelyn, turning towards Izzy with a rather nervous smile. "You're a friend of Rick's?"

"Oh no, we're just barely acquainted," said Izzy. "I'm tonight's entertainment, you see. Ever seen a one-man jazz band?"

"I've never seen a jazz band at all."

"Well you're in for a treat, my girl. I may be blind in one eye, but I play a mean trumpet."

"Izzy, don't you have an autograph to get?" said Rick.

Izzy's one visible eye grew wider. "Thanks for reminding me!" He dashed off with his trumpet tucked under one arm, leaving Rick and Evelyn to stand by and stare at each other.

"So—"

"Well—"

"You go first," said Rick, embarrassed.

"Let's find someplace quieter and sit down," Evelyn suggested.

Rick was tired of standing around awkwardly and followed Evelyn into a smaller room where only a handful of people were loitering around, making far less noise than the rest of the party guests. "The most curious thing happened today," Evelyn said as she sat down on an empty seat. "I received a telephone call from a Dr. Chamberlain. Somebody told him about my interest in Hamunaptra and he wants to meet with me tomorrow. A real Egyptologist!"

Rick didn't share her enthusiasm. "You don't find that suspicious at all?"

"I admit that it's rather odd, but I'm sure there's no harm in seeing the man."

"I don't know. Seems shady to me." Rick didn't know Meela very well, but she struck him as the type of person who would take drastic measures to keep her secrets. "I don't think you should see this guy."

"I beg your pardon!" said Evelyn. "You're a decent man, Mr. O'Connell, but who are you to decide whether or not I should see someone?"

"So I'm Mr. O'Connell again, huh?"

"That's not what I—"

"No, no. I get it. It's none of my business if you see that guy or not."

Evelyn's posture relaxed a bit, though her eyes were still uncertain. "No, it certainly isn't. I'm glad you understand."

"But I still wouldn't see him if I were you. These people are trouble."

"These people? Why, the man is an Egyptologist! Who studied in London, no less."

"I don't care if he studied on the moon. This Dr. Whatever-His-Name-Is—"

"Dr. Chamberlain," Evelyn corrected.

"Yeah, him. I just think it's kind of weird that he called you out of the blue like that. There's gotta be a reason behind it."

"And why are you so concerned with my affairs, Rick?"

"So I'm Rick again. How'd that happen?"

Evelyn didn't get a chance to reply because a pair of boots came tramping up and somebody drawled, "Well, well. If it ain't Rick O'Connell. How'd a convict like you get into a party like this?"

"Convict?" said Evelyn, looking confused.

"Darn right he is," said Daniels, grinning at Evelyn. "This man right here tried to rob a bank a while back. How much time did you serve, O'Connell? Four years?"

"Three," Rick said quietly.

"Oh, but he's harmless as a fly, ma'am," said Daniels. "Just as long as you keep the valuables locked up. Right, O'Connell?"

Rick didn't understand it, but Daniels had been taking jibes at him for days. Henderson claimed that Daniels was always hard on new acquaintances, but the subtle taunts seemed to grow worse the longer Rick knew him. "Right," he said, putting on a false smile.

"You two have fun." Daniels winked at Evelyn and walked off, headed towards a golden-haired woman who looked like Gloria from the back, though it was hard to tell when all the women had the same bobbed hair.

"Is it true about the bank?" said Evelyn, watching Rick with wary eyes. "Did you really try to rob one?"

"Well, uh—"

"You're never gonna believe this, O'Connell!" said Izzy, rushing up with his trumpet in hand. "Shoeless Joe ain't Shoeless Joe after all!"


	28. Disorder

Disorder

Gloria entered the garage and found Beni in the front seat of Freddie's car, smoking a cigarette. He had been hiding out all evening, ever since Margaret's party began, and had whined out his usual excuse of having no place to go. "You're going to be in a heap of trouble for getting ash all over the seat," said Gloria. "Freddie loves that car more than anything."

"He doesn't have to know that I am the one who did it," said Beni. He looked Gloria up and down, the lit cigarette dangling from his fingertips, and his eyes hardened with displeasure. "You did not bring any booze."

"No, I didn't. But I got the wallet."

Beni's eyes lit up hungrily. He looked like he hadn't changed his clothes since the last time Gloria saw him and he lounged in Freddie's car with a mockery of elegance, like a tramp pretending to be a rich man. "Let me see it."

"And why should I do that?" said Gloria. "Maybe I want to keep it."

"It is not yours to keep."

"It isn't yours either."

"You are a rich girl. You don't need it."

Gloria loved being reminded of the difference in their status. It made her feel superior, though feeling superior to a man like Beni took very little effort. All the other men she had been with, like the Italian gunmen and American con artists she met in the speakeasies, made an effort to impress her by taking her out to fancy restaurants and wearing their flashiest clothes, and they thought that having money gave them power over a woman. Gloria liked Beni because he would always be in her debt, no matter how many assassin jobs he performed. A man like Beni could never gain the upper hand.

"You're right," said Gloria, approaching the car with the wallet in her grasp. "But you can't have it for free, Beni." She dropped the wallet into his lap and grabbed the cigarette from his fingers, then stuck it into her mouth and took a drag.

"Hey!" cried Beni. "Why did you have to take that?"

"Because it's all you've got."

Beni grumbled to himself in Hungarian and flipped open the wallet. Gloria hoped to see nude photos or narcotics or something equally interesting, but the wallet contained nothing more exciting than some money, a single playing card, and a handkerchief. "How dull," she said. "If you wanted money, you could have stolen it yourself."

"It is not about the money," said Beni. "Though it is a nice reward for all of my trouble." He plucked the bills out of the wallet without bothering to count them and stuffed them into his pocket.

"Then what did I steal the wallet for?"

"I want you to put it in O'Connell's jacket. Make it look like _he_ is the one who took it."

"You could always do it yourself," Gloria suggested. "I know you're terrified of Margaret, but—"

"I am not afraid of your stupid sister. It is just safer for me to stay out here."

Gloria knew he was a coward, but it didn't bother her the way Freddie's pompousness or Margaret's condescension bothered her. Any other man would have stood up for himself, but Beni completely crumbled when Margaret threw him out of the house that morning, surrendering with the desperation of a man whose life had been threatened. Any other woman would have been disgusted with such spineless behavior, but Gloria was too entertained to care.

Yes, Beni was entertaining. Much more entertaining than the stuffy, over-dressed people that associated with her family.

"How am I supposed to set up O'Connell without getting caught?" she asked. "The house is crawling with party guests."

"I don't know. Take him up to your room and seduce him."

"How generous of you."

He glared at her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that most men in your position would get jealous."

"I do not get jealous of O'Connell. He is an idiot."

Gloria took one last drag on her stolen cigarette, closing her eyes as she savored the tobacco, and put the remaining stub up to Beni's mouth. "Here. Finish it off."

He watched her carefully, ever suspicious. "Why would you give it back to me?"

"Because you're pitiful, that's why."

He accepted the cigarette without a word and handed her the wallet, which felt much lighter without the cash weighing it down. Gloria left the garage and snuck back into the house, keeping her eyes open for Rick O'Connell, and found Burns standing by the punch bowl with Evelyn, deep in conversation. Plain, boring Burns, the ideal "safe" match for Gloria's sister. Perhaps he would be better off with a woman like Evelyn, who could surely give him a run for his money when it came to dullness and social deficiency.

"Why hello, Burns. Evelyn," said Gloria, gliding up to the punch bowl.

"Evening, Gloria," said Burns. He looked more relaxed when he didn't have Margaret hanging on his arm and dictating his every move. "Some party, huh?"

"Some party, indeed," said Gloria. "Have either of you seen a good friend of mine? Tall, handsome, goes by Rick O'Connell?"

Evelyn flushed and took a deep drink from her glass of punch to steady herself. "You're acquainted with Rick— er, Mr. O'Connell?"

"He's a friend of a friend, really, but what do details matter? Do you know where I can find him?"

"I believe he went to get some air. Have you seen Jonathan at all?"

"You know Jonny has no use for a dry party like this one," said Gloria. "He's probably out having a drink."

She left Burns and Evelyn, already bored with the conversation, and caught the distinct sound of a trumpet coming from across the room. Rick's friend Izzy stood in a corner with the trumpet raised to his lips, playing for a small group of people like a respectably dressed street performer. He would have looked like a gentleman if he wasn't wearing an eye patch.

"Gloria, why on earth did you invite that man?"

Gloria stiffened as Margaret approached, looking haughty in a new necklace Burns had given her. "What man?"

"The one with the trumpet. He looks absurd."

"I didn't invite him."

"Of course you did," said Margaret. "He's exactly the sort of man you would invite."

Izzy was also the sort of man to offend Margaret's views on race and social class, which secretly delighted Gloria to no end. "Well I don't see what the trouble is," she said coolly. "He's not hurting anything."

"It figures that _you_ would think so," said Margaret. "No woman with any taste would speak to that awful little rat of a man you keep company with. He isn't lurking around the house as well, is he?"

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't."

"Well at least get that trumpet player out of the house. Tell him he can play outside."

"It's okay," somebody said behind Gloria. "The trumpet player's with me."

Glora turned around to face Rick O'Connell, who looked awkward in a suit and tie. "Fancy seeing you here, O'Connell," she said. "Just the man I wanted to speak with."

Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but she seemed unable to find fault with O'Connell's appearance and walked away with her head held high, making a beeline for Burns at the punch bowl. O'Connell watched her with his eyebrow raised. "Is it something I said?"

"Don't worry about Margaret," said Gloria. "She's an insufferable bore."

"So I've heard."

Gloria took O'Connell by the arm and smirked when he looked surprised. "Tell me about your friend Izzy. Does he play in a jazz band?"

"No, but he thinks he does," said O'Connell.

"He has an imagination then."

"Actually, he's nuts."

Gloria led O'Connell through the room, past men and women eating appetizers in small groups, and made sure to steer clear of the punch bowl on her way to the nearest exit. "Are you sure we should sneak off like this?" O'Connell asked as Gloria took him into the hall, out of sight from the other guests.

"Nobody will mind," said Gloria. "This is my house, after all."

O'Connell looked at her for a moment, fiddling with his tie. "So, uh, how long is your cousin Evelyn staying here?"

"About a month, I think," said Gloria. "What's it matter to a fellow like you?"

"Nothing, really. I was just... wondering."

"Fancy a cigarette?"

"Uh, no," said O'Connell. "I don't smoke."

"You don't smoke?" Gloria echoed in mock astonishment. "What on earth do you do for fun?"

O'Connell shrugged. "I get by without it."

"Nonsense. You must do _something_ that's idle and a little bit frivolous."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Maybe something like this." Gloria grabbed hold of O'Connell and pulled him into a kiss, keeping him busy just long enough to slip the wallet into his jacket pocket. His kisses were nothing like Beni's. O'Connell didn't have a lot of stubble that scratched her face, for one thing, and he didn't kiss with any selfishness or neediness the way Beni did.

Yet it felt kind of wrong.

"Perhaps this is a little _too_ frivolous," Gloria said as she broke the kiss. Her body tingled with the usual thrill that came with rule-breaking, but that was all the satisfaction she had gotten from her spur-of-the-moment actions.

"Yeah." O'Connell, who was normally so calm and collected, looked a little shaken and took a step away from Gloria. "Why don't we go back to the party?"

"That's a marvelous idea."

Gloria returned to the party first and O'Connell waited about five minutes before following after her, just in case anyone was watching and got suspicious. Gloria didn't speak to him for the rest of the evening, which suited them both perfectly, and her only regret was that Beni wasn't around to see his handiwork when Daniels checked his pockets at the end of the party.

"Hey!" he shouted, loud enough to wake the sleeping neighbors. "Which one of you sons a bitches stole my wallet?"


	29. Success

Success

Beni was a genius.

He lounged in the front seat of Frederick Milton's shiny car, a glass of celebratory wine clutched in one hand, and toasted himself on a job well done. "To my brilliant plan," he said, raising his glass in the air.

Gloria, who sat beside him in the passenger's seat, did not share his enthusiasm. "Not much of a plan, really," she said. "What's the point of framing a man for a crime as petty as a stolen wallet?"

"It does not matter what the crime is," said Beni. "What matters is who it involves. After what has happened tonight, Daniels probably hates O'Connell enough to drive him out of town."

"And why do you want O'Connell driven out of town? Sounds like an unnecessary bother to me."

But Gloria didn't understand how it felt to constantly be in O'Connell's shadow. Back in 1923, when Beni first started working with him, O'Connell was the one who got all the attention. The one who landed the best jobs from crooks all over town, the one who got all the sidelong glances and telephone numbers from the prettiest girls, the one who people always remembered, because a man with a handsome face always got remembered. Nobody wanted to remember a man who looked like Beni. Gloria didn't understand that Beni had found a place within Meela and Imhotep's crew. It wasn't a great place, since nobody appreciated him there either, but it was _his_, and O'Connell just had to ruin it by joining in on the action. Always showing Beni up and making him look bad. Why couldn't he have stayed in jail where he belonged?

"It does not matter why I want the things that I want," Beni told Gloria. "It is not like you care, anyway."

"You're right," said Gloria. "I don't care at all. But that doesn't mean I can't be curious."

"That's all? You are just curious?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Most women would demand a reward for doing a job like the one I gave you. People do not do these things for free."

Gloria smirked and took a sip from her own wineglass, briefly closing her eyes as she let the alcohol glide down her throat. She was the laziest, most carefree woman Beni had ever seen. "Haven't you figured it out by now, Beni?" she said. "I'm not anything like other women."

She had a point. Any other woman would have demanded payment before stealing a wallet from one man and planting it on another, but Gloria appeared to thrive on lawlessness. She had no soul. Beni managed to sneak into the house just in time to see the results of her handiwork, which had gone just as he hoped, and hid behind a potted plant while Daniels pulled out his gun and aimed it at O'Connell, demanding that he empty his pockets. Margaret was hysterical throughout the ensuing pandemonium—nearly pissed herself, which served the bitch right—and tried to get her useless brother Freddie to break up the conflict. Beni couldn't believe Gloria was related to these people.

The only flaw in the plan was that Daniels accidentally shot Izzy in the leg during the panic that erupted. The last thing Izzy needed was another injury to complain about. The last thing _Beni_ needed was to hear him complain about it.

"I want to get out of here," said Beni. He was tired of being cooped up in a garage with nothing to do but drink stolen wine.

"You want to find a hotel or something?" said Gloria.

Beni was getting bored with hotels. If he was going to spend his time with Gloria, then he wanted to do something useful that evening. "No," he said with a wicked little smile. "I have a much better idea. I think it is time you met my wife."

"I thought you were getting an annulment."

"I am, but annulments are a pain in the ass. For now she is still my wife."

"So you're inviting me to meet the infamous Roza." Gloria's smile was just as wicked as Beni's own. "Sounds delightful."

"We are taking your brother's car."

"Even more delightful. Freddie will never notice, he's so busy scolding Burns for the company he keeps. It's all Burns' fault that Daniels fellow showed up, after all."

Beni wasn't listening. He ran his hand over the steering wheel in front of him, remembering the piece-of-shit car that O'Connell used to drive in the old days. Yet another thing O'Connell had that Beni didn't, even if it was junk, and he found it unfair that a man like Freddie Milton, who never had to work a day in his life, was allowed to have such a nice car when Beni had nothing. All he had was a selfish woman who let him fuck her because she found him amusing, and she may have been only a woman, but Beni was going to rub her in Roza's face. Tonight was his night to prove that he wouldn't always be on the bottom. He wouldn't always have nothing.

He knew Roza would be home when he and Gloria pulled up in front of his apartment building. Roza was always at home. She had no place to go. Gloria looked less bored than usual as she followed Beni into the building, taking in the sight of the crumbling walls, the murky windows, and the old drunk who lay huddled up by the front doors. The building didn't have an elevator, so they had to climb a dark, narrow staircase that led to an equally dark, narrow hallway, and Gloria didn't say a word, but Beni knew what she was thinking. She was thinking what a pitiful life he led, living in a building like this, and Beni gave her a contemptuous sneer as he showed her to his door. His pride couldn't be hurt when he never had any pride to begin with.

"Charming," Gloria remarked as she eyed up the peeling wooden door.

Beni ignored her and turned his key in the rusted lock, then creaked the door open. _"Roza, my dear,"_ he said mockingly in Hungarian. _"I have returned to you."_

"What did you say?" Gloria murmured.

"It is not important," said Beni. He stepped into the apartment, Gloria trailing behind him, and noticed the main room looked barer than usual. No magazines strewn on the shabby furniture. No clothing hanging from the pegs on the wall.

The bedroom door opened and Roza appeared, wearing the same thin nightgown she had worn since they got married. Her eyes were hard as she looked at Beni. _"Hello, darling_," she said, a new edge to her voice that Beni had never heard before. Her eyes landed on Gloria and her hard expression faltered for a moment, but it soon returned, more venomous than before. _"Who's the whore?"_

"_She's not a whore_," said Beni. _"She is the cousin of that British moron you're fucking."_

"_Cousin?"_

"As much as it delights me to hear you jabbering on in your native tongue, can we switch to English, please?" said Gloria. She smirked at Roza. "How do you do?"

"_So this is your mistress," _Roza said to Beni, ignoring Gloria's greeting. _"This is the woman you've been seeing behind my back for weeks."_

"_I've seen a lot of women behind your back_," said Beni. _"You were just too naive to realize it."_

"_Do you love her?"_ Roza's words didn't sound accusing, but weary instead. The fire had faded from her eyes as she glanced over at Gloria, who stood there in all her finery like a jewel that fell into a gutter.

Beni scoffed at her. _"Of course not. She is only a good time."_

"_I used to be a good time too, Beni. You thought I was a lot of fun when we first met."_

"_I thought you were easy, and you were. You've always been nothing more than a little slut who can't take care of herself."_

Roza raised her hand to slap him, just like she always used to do, then suddenly lowered it. _"You can't hurt me anymore, Beni. I don't care what you think."_

"Well this has been a stimulating conversation," Gloria remarked, looking thoroughly bored.

Roza ignored her again. _"Jonathan is going back to his uncle's house right now, and then he's going to rent a hotel room for me. I'm moving in tomorrow."_

"_Good_," said Beni. _"I will finally get some peace around here."_ He stepped closer to Gloria and took her by the arm, gripping her possessively."Let's get out of here," he said in English. "I am getting hungry."

"It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Gabor," said Gloria, her eyes glittering with amusement as she looked at Roza.

Roza stared back at her, looking shabby and tarnished in comparison to Gloria's sleek, glamorous appearance, and her eyes grew hard again. "I hope you are happy," she told Gloria, then turned on her heel and returned to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.


	30. Blame

Blame

"I'm telling you, I can't work with this prick. You've gotta fire him."

Daniels stood just inches from Meela's desk, his eyebrows drawn together in a scowl, and the fingers on his right hand twitched restlessly, as if longing to snatch the paperweight that sat on the edge of the desk and smash it against the wall. Meela moved the paperweight out of his reach and met Daniels' flashing eyes with her own icy gaze. "You have a lot of nerve coming into my office making demands, Daniels," she said. "Why should I even _think_ of helping you after what you've done?"

His scowl deepened. "The hell do you mean?"

"You drew attention to yourself at that party two nights ago."

"I had every right. That bastard O'Connell stole my wallet right from under my nose!"

"You pulled out a gun in a house full of people and shot a man in the leg," Meela informed him. "The police took you into custody for the night."

"Yeah, well those cops couldn't pin nothin' on me. It was an accident."

Meela wondered how many of Daniels' previous arrests had involved "accidents." She had never liked the man, but Daniels was a lot like Beni when it came to business: it was much better to have him work for you than against you. "I don't care if the police let you go," she said. "You were stupid enough to lose your head and attract their attention. We're all lucky your name didn't get in the papers."

"Hey, don't go blamin' this on me," Daniels snapped. "O'Connell is the one who nabbed my wallet. He's a no-good thief and I want him out of here."

"How do you know O'Connell is the one who robbed you? Do you have proof?"

"Proof? I don't need any goddamn proof! I searched the bastard's pockets and found the wallet in his jacket, with all the cash missing. He'll rob _you_ next if you're fool enough to keep him around."

Meela knew she had no reason to trust O'Connell, who had a criminal record as long as any crook's in the city, but she had no reason to trust Daniels either. Daniels liked to cause trouble for the sake of causing trouble. "We'll discuss this later, Mr. Daniels. You're excused."

He didn't move an inch. She didn't expect him to. "I hear Imhotep is back in town," Daniels remarked, his tone much calmer than before. "Imhotep wouldn't ignore a thing like this."

"Imhotep isn't the one who runs this bar," said Meela. "_I_ am. And while you're under the roof of this bar, you'll obey me when I tell you to get out of my office."

Daniels stared at her for a moment, his hands clenched into fists, but he seemed unable to think up an argument and strode from the room, grumbling to himself under his breath as he went. His absence did nothing to ease Meela's problems. Of course word would get out that Imhotep had returned to Chicago, thanks to Beni and his inability to keep news to himself, and Meela may have missed Imhotep while he was in Egypt for months on end, but she was reluctant to give back the power that had been hers while he was away. Imhotep was supposed to sneak into Cairo's Museum of Antiquities and steal two ancient artifacts—the Book of Amun-Ra and the Book of the Dead—and replace them with counterfeit copies, but instead he had used the two stolen books in some strange attempt at gaining eternal life.

If Ardeth was telling the truth. Imhotep wouldn't speak to her about his mysterious plans, but Ardeth had made it very clear that Imhotep would not be allowed to enter Egypt again.

Meela opened her private liquor cabinet and poured herself a drink, already exhausted at nine o'clock in the evening. At least she didn't have to worry about that Carnahan woman prying into her affairs. Dr. Chamberlain played his part by telling Miss Carnahan that all the artifacts in Hamunaptra were highly convincing fakes, which would hopefully be enough to stifle her curiosity. The most blatant lie could sound convincing from the mouth of an Egyptologist.

Just as Meela was about to enjoy her drink, the door creaked open and she bit back a curse. Even Daniels had the decency to knock before entering, but Beni never bothered and walked into Meela's office with the deliberate caution of a man who was used to trespassing.

"This evening gets better and better," said Meela. "First Mr. Daniels drops in, and now I have the honor of looking at _your_ ugly face."

"You still have my hat and jacket," Beni complained. "I want them back."

"What's wrong with the jacket you're wearing?"

"It is not as warm as the other one. And that was my only hat."

Meela was ready to dismiss him with a clever threat, but one look at those shifty eyes reminded her of her conversation with Daniels. Something about Daniels' story raised her suspicions, and those suspicions only grew stronger as she gazed at the most devious man she had ever met. "Have a seat, Beni."

Beni looked taken aback at her pleasant tone. "What?"

"Have a seat. I want to talk to you."

"Will I get my hat and jacket?"

"Maybe, if you answer a few questions for me first."

Beni refused to take his eyes off her face as he sat down in the nearest chair, his nervousness showing through every movement. Meela could count on one hand the number of times she had seen him relax. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it," Beni said quickly.

"I'll be the judge of that," said Meela. "Mr. Daniels came to me with an interesting story about Rick O'Connell stealing his wallet at a party two nights ago. Perhaps you heard?"

Beni let out a strained chuckle. "Oh yes, I heard about that. How unfortunate."

"Weren't you at that party, Beni?"

"No, I changed my mind about going. I was with a woman instead."

Despite the suggestive leer on his face, Meela knew he was lying. She distinctly remembered him telling her that he planned to attend a party on the same night Daniels was supposedly robbed. "Ah yes, your rich girlfriend you're always talking about. What's her name, anyway?"

"She is not my girlfriend," Beni grumbled. "And what do you care?"

"I'm just curious."

"It's Gloria Milton." Beni sounded smug as he spoke the name, his reluctance overruled by his desire to brag about his female friend. Trapping him was too easy.

"And is this Gloria Milton related to a woman named Margaret Milton?"

"They're sisters. Who cares?"

"_I_ care," said Meela. "And I know a lot more than you think. If you were with Gloria two nights ago and her sister Margaret was hosting a party that same night, then you must have been at the party. A party that you specifically told me you planned to attend the last time we saw one another."

Beni breathed an impatient sigh. "Where are you going with this, Meela?"

She knew the incident with O'Connell had his name all over it. She knew him all too well. "As far as I know, O'Connell has no reason to rob Daniels. _You_, on the other hand, have a whole list of reasons to get O'Connell into trouble."

His eyes widened and he sat bolt upright in his seat, ready with his usual whiny excuses. "But O'Connell is my best friend! We're like brothers!"

"Is he really your best friend, Beni? As I recall, the two of you have a rather unpleasant history. Not to mention the fact that O'Connell shot you in the shoulder a while ago. I tended your wound, remember?"

"That was in the past. O'Connell and I are the best of friends. Ask him yourself!"

"I intend to. Now if you value your life, you'll get the hell out of my office and behave yourself."

Meela didn't like threatening him, especially when she knew that his antics would probably continue whether she frightened him or not. She took a sip from her long-awaited drink as Beni scurried from the room, but the alcohol tasted bland on her tongue and she set down the glass with a sigh. Something needed to be done about Beni Gabor.


	31. Sacrifice

**Author's Note: **So, the bad news is that this chapter is ridiculously short, and I apologize for that, but the good news is that I (finally) figured out how I want to end the story. Hooray! That means I'll be wrappings things up in just a few more chapters, so I'm gonna try my best to finish it before the year ends.

* * *

Sacrifice

When Rick first got out of jail, there wasn't a single person he was eager to see. Other guys would sit around and talk about wives, girlfriends, parents, friends; all the people they would find as soon as they got out from behind bars, but Rick had nobody. No family. No loyal friends aside from Izzy, who was out of town at the time. Not even a measly dog or cat to look forward to once he got free. But then he met Evelyn Carnahan, and if he had known a woman like Evelyn back in the old days, he would have escaped from jail just to catch a glimpse of her. If he had known Evelyn in the old days, he would have never gotten arrested in the first place.

He supposed it didn't matter, now that he had probably lost her for good. He hadn't seen her since the party, ever since Daniels accused him of stealing his wallet, and it was impossible to visit her because Margaret refused to let him into the house. The only thing Rick could do was sit at the bar in Hamunaptra and drink a tall glass of beer—just plain, old-fashioned beer, rather than those fancy cocktails that had become so popular in the last several years—while old Winston rambled on about his glory days to the pair of young women who sat nearby.

Rick sipped his beer and thought it tasted flat. Stale, just like his mood. He didn't realize how much he valued Evelyn's company until he found himself alone at the bar, surrounded by fake Egyptian artifacts with nobody to explain which gods and goddesses were depicted upon the various statues and pieces of pottery. Nobody to make him feel like he was something more than a two-bit crook with no future.

He didn't even get a chance to defend himself at that ridiculous party. Nobody would listen among all the chaos, and next thing he knew somebody was shoving him outside and slamming the door shut, leaving Rick to find his way home feeling cheated, because he knew for a fact that he would never in a million years steal Daniels' wallet. Nobody in his right mind would steal from Daniels. The man was so high-strung, it was a miracle he didn't shoot every person who tried to talk to him.

Normally Rick would suspect Beni in a situation like this, but Beni wasn't anywhere near Margaret's party as far as Rick knew, so somebody else must have planted the wallet in his jacket. Somebody must have thought it would make a great joke.

Rick suspected Gloria. He didn't know her very well, but she struck him as the type of person who would frame someone at a party just for the sake of stirring up excitement. Why else would she pull him aside and kiss him for no reason? She must have slipped the wallet into his pocket while her lips were on his, then ended their brief, awkward encounter as soon as the deed was done.

God, he was such an idiot. Three years in jail had turned him into a sucker.

"Well, lookee here. It's the wallet snatcher himself."

The man who spoke sounded amused rather than malicious, though it was only a matter of time until the harmless jibes turned to something much more sinister, and Rick didn't bother with a fake smile as he met Henderson's smirking face. It wasn't worth the energy.

"Hello to you too," said Rick.

"I'm surprised you've shown your face 'round here," said Henderson. "Daniels is out for your blood, ya know."

"I know," said Rick. Now was his chance to defend himself, to explain that somebody set him up, but the words wouldn't come. He had never been the type to give excuses and besides, Henderson wouldn't believe him. He was condemned as a thief, whether he liked it or not.

Henderson plunked himself down on the barstool next to Rick, a rakish grin on his face, and searched his pockets for a cigarette, as if nothing was wrong. As if they were the best of friends. "So how'd ya do it?" he asked as he lit a match and ignited the end of his cigarette, perfectly nonchalant.

"How'd I do what?" said Rick.

"Nab the wallet. That was some clever trick you pulled there."

"Got lucky, I guess."

"Ha," Henderson snorted. "Lucky. That's a good one, O'Connell. You've got balls, I'll give you that." He seemed to have forgotten about his cigarette and let it dangle between his fingers, sending faint trails of smoke aross the counter. "But ya know, balls ain't enough in a business like this. I'd cut outta here if I were you."

"Thanks for the advice," said Rick, watching him warily. On the surface, Henderson's words sounded friendly. The words of a friend, a business partner, a man just trying to help, but Rick noticed that the rakish grin had disappeared. The cigarette remained unsmoked.

"No problem," said Henderson. "_Pal_," he added as an afterthought.

In spite of the veiled threats and false show of friendship, perhaps Henderson was right. Perhaps Rick should quit the business before it ruined him, find legitimate work and turn himself around. Prove to Evelyn and her family that he could be a good man, that he _was_ a good man. Even if he ended up delivering milk bottles or washing dishes for a living, it had to be better than working among people like Daniels and Henderson, living a life without Evelyn Carnahan and her bright curiosity about the world.

He left his drink unfinished and muttered something to Henderson about needing some air, then walked past the bar counter, past sparkling women and conceited men, past turbaned musicians with flutes glued to their lips, until he found Meela's office and knocked on the door. Her stern voice answered from within, giving him consent to enter, and Rick strode into her office, up to her desk so he could free himself from this underground web at last.

"I quit."


	32. Responsibility

Responsibility

Beni couldn't eat. He couldn't drink. He couldn't even move from the splintered wooden chair he had occupied for the last thirty minutes. He could only sit and stare at the woman who sat across from him, only vaguely aware of the noise and chatter that came from the other patrons of Jimmy's restaurant. She looked so smug sitting there, as if she took pleasure in the fact that she had just delivered the worst news imaginable.

"You're lying," Beni choked out.

"Why would I lie about something like this?"

"It is not mine."

"Of course it's yours," said Gloria, looking more smug than ever. "You're the only man I've been with in ages."

"Maybe you have made a mistake," said Beni, frantically grasping for something, _anything_, that could shatter the reality of this horrible news. "Maybe it is nothing."

Gloria was infuriatingly calm as she took up her fork and knife to carve the meat that sat on her plate. "Oh no, it definitely isn't nothing. I'm very sure." She didn't seem to care that she had just ruined Beni's life. She never cared about anything.

"This was not supposed to happen," he complained, hating the nonchalant way she chewed her food, as if everything was normal. "I thought you were being careful!"

She swallowed her food and wiped at a corner of her mouth with a napkin, oblivious to Beni's pain. "These things happen, Beni. You're just going to have to accept the fact that you're an accidental father." She raised her wicked green eyes to meet his. "Lucky you."

Beni couldn't be a father. He had never liked children and they were such a hassle to take care of, always needing food and clothes and somebody to fuss over them. Bad enough that Meela had ruined his evening a couple of hours ago by uncovering his role in the wallet incident, and now he had a _baby_, of all things, to worry about. All he needed was Roza to show up and further prove that women were the reason his life was so hard.

"What are you going to do?" he demanded. "A rich girl like you can't have a baby without a husband. Rich people are always so uptight about these things. You'll be a disgrace."

"When have I ever cared what people think of me? The only disgrace I'm worried about is what it'll look like after it's born. I do hope it takes after me instead of you."

"You can't have a baby. Your sister will kill you first."

Gloria sipped from her glass of cheap ginger ale and smiled at Beni. "Don't worry about that. I can handle Margaret."

Beni found her attitude stranger by the minute. Usually women were distraught when they got knocked up outside of marriage, but Gloria was much too pleased over the whole problem. Most women in her situation had nothing to smile about. "Why the hell are you so calm about this?" Beni asked. "I was right. You are lying to me."

"Don't be silly, Beni. Who in their right mind would lie about having a baby?"

"I think you are making the whole thing up. You haven't been sick at all."

"How do you know that? Are you with me every second of the day?"

"No, but I still think you are lying. You would not be so calm if you were really knocked up."

Beni still couldn't eat, in spite of his suspicions. He was used to Roza robbing him of his appetite, but Gloria had never let him down before, and he felt annoyed as he looked at her from across the table and watched her cut another bite off her meat. She probably thought this was a wonderful joke, yet another excuse for her to find him amusing, and Beni scowled when she met his eyes again. He wasn't going to be her clown.

"Well, you've reacted exactly the way I thought you would," said Gloria. "You're lucky my feelings aren't easily hurt."

"What feelings? You don't have any feelings."

"Everyone has feelings. I've just chosen not to sob into your shoulder, begging you to marry me and take away my shame."

Beni took his fork and prodded at the food on his place, stabbing deep puncture wounds into his slice of ham. "I would never marry you."

"Of course not. You've told me already."

"I would never help you out either. I know this is all a joke."

"Oh, yes. It _could_ be a joke," said Gloria, her attention fully on Beni. "But what if it isn't? What are you going to do if I'm telling the truth?"

She _had_ to be lying. And even if she wasn't, Beni refused to take responsibility for Gloria's accident. The kid was her problem to deal with, not his, and if she wanted to be in disgrace for having a bastard then that was her problem too. "It doesn't matter what I would do," said Beni. "What are _you _going to do?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"What kind of answer is that? Why don't you just admit that there is no baby?"

"Because there _could_ be a baby."

"But there probably isn't." Beni threw down his fork, furious with Gloria for ruining his appetite and destroying an already bad evening. "I'm going home now."

"I might as well leave too, then," said Gloria. "Would you mind walking me out the door? I feel _so_ tired."

She was probably just putting on an act. She probably thought he was gullible, just because his native language wasn't English. People in America seemed to think that having a funny accent meant you were silly and naive, that you were too stupid to know when someone was trying to trick you. It didn't matter that Gloria had spent her childhood in England. Beni was the foreigner, the one who talked funny and looked funny, but Beni was smarter than his fellow immigrants who struggled with new customs and a new language. He wouldn't let Gloria laugh at him anymore.

He got up from the table and pushed his chair in so hard, it rattled the dishes and spilled ginger ale on the wooden tabletop. "Walk yourself to the door," he told Gloria. "And get the bill too."

"Oh Beni, don't be like that," said Gloria. "You know I would never truly make you do anything you didn't want to do."

"Good, because I'm leaving."

He thought he heard her say his name, but he didn't look back and hurried out of the restaurant, before Jacob Moritz or some other thug caught sight of him, and nearly stepped in a puddle when he made it outside. Of course it had started raining. As if his evening wasn't miserable enough. The city always looked sinister during an evening shower, all black and white like one of those moving picture shows that Beni snuck into sometimes, and his dark mood grew blacker as he hailed a cab and slid his wet, shivering form into the backseat. He had never hated Chicago more. Though the glass windows of the cab protected him from the downpour outside, he felt as if every basic comfort had been stripped away from him and tossed into Lake Michigan. What was the point of staying in this awful city when the odds were always against him? If he lingered another day, he could wind up with a bullet in his head thanks to Meela, or Daniels, or even O'Connell. He had made a target of himself, all because his plan to ruin O'Connell had backfired, and it no longer mattered if O'Connell came out on top or not. None of it mattered anymore. If Beni wanted to survive, he had to run, just like he always did at the first sign of danger.

And then there was Gloria. If she really _was _having a bastard, then there was no way in hell Beni would stick around to be a father to a child he didn't want. Margaret already hated him enough; if she knew that he knocked up her sister, he would never hear the end of it. And even if Gloria was lying, and there really was no baby, Beni knew he was treading on dangerous territory with their relationship, or whatever the hell it was. He was getting too attached, and Beni never got attached if he could help it. He didn't separate from Roza only to get himself caught in another trap.

Roza definitely wouldn't miss him if he packed his things and disappeared. She would probably celebrate once she realized he was gone. Sooner or later her idiotic Englishman would get tired of her and cast her aside, and when that happened Beni wouldn't be around to put a roof over her head and food on her table. It served her right for all her nagging.

The cab pulled up in front of his apartment and Beni took a moment to stare through the rain-slicked window, out at the miserable building that had served as his home for the last three years. He felt no attachment to his apartment. No sentimental desire to stay behind and try to make the best of it. He thrust some money at the cab driver and scurried out into the rain, flinching each time the cold raindrops slipped down the back of his shirt and drenched his skin. Maybe he would leave the country, find someplace where it didn't rain or snow. Someplace like Egypt, perhaps. He could probably make a lot of money off of dumb tourists in Egypt, without having to answer to people like Meela and Imhotep.

Egypt sounded nicer with every step he took. Why should he stay in a country that had caused him nothing but problems? He grinned as he entered the building and started his ascent up the narrow, creaking stairs. Meela would be furious when she learned he had disappeared. She was probably just waiting for the perfect chance to punish for him for the trouble he caused, but she wouldn't get that chance. He was finished with America and its ridiculous Prohibition.

His apartment felt deathly quiet now that Roza was gone. On a different night, under different circumstances, he would have been glad to enter his home and find silence within, but now he didn't care. He still had the old suitcase he brought on the boat from Europe, just in case an emergency ever arose, and packed up the few belongings he felt were worth taking. How easy it was to just pack up and leave, now that he had a plan in mind, and Beni didn't hesitate once he was ready. He picked up his suitcase and walked out the door, out into the shadowed hallway with its rows of doors that shielded his sleeping neighbors from the world. He knew the neighbors would be relieved when he left them for good.

"Hello, Mr. Gabor."

Beni practically jumped, startled at the soft, feminine voice that addressed him. "Who's there?" he demanded, his voice higher than normal.

"It's only me." A woman stepped forward, a woman with wild curls and wide blue eyes. Beni recognized her as Rebekah, the woman who pestered him about the death of Levi Rosenberg, who Beni eliminated as a favor for Jacob Moritz. Rebekah had been distraught the last time Beni saw her, but now she seemed calm and composed despite the worry lines etched into her face.

"What are _you_ doing here?" said Beni. The last thing he needed was yet another woman bothering him. "How do you know where I live?"

"I've been following you again," Rebekah admitted. "And I want to say that I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? That you have falsely accused me of killing your boyfriend?"

"No, Mr. Gabor," said Rebekah, reaching into her purse. "Sorry that a miserable bastard like you was ever born."

She pulled out her gun and fired, shooting Beni right in the heart.


	33. Oblivion

Oblivion

Roza lay facedown on the hotel bed, her face buried in the soft clean pillow, and cried for what felt like an eternity. She never expected to cry over _him_, of all people, and had spent her morning listening in shock as Jonathan read the article in the paper. It was only a small article, of course, since his death was of little significance compared to the stories that made the front page, but his name was still in print for all to see.

She thought she would cry when Jonathan brought her a cup of tea and read her the article in his patient way, taking care to make sure she understood every word, but her eyes remained dry from start to finish. She didn't cry as the cab took her to the morgue, or when the police told her the details of what happened, but then she saw the body with that ugly wound in the middle of the chest, and after that the tears wouldn't stop. Beni Gabor was a bad man. A despicable human being. A poor excuse for a husband, but he had been her husband all the same and Roza may have wished a hundred times that he would disappear into thin air, but she had never really, truly wanted him dead. Even on the night she threatened him with a gun and demanded an annulment, she never intended to mortally wound him. She never intended to pull the trigger, even if he deserved it.

But somebody out there _did_ have the nerve to pull the trigger, to extinguish that pathetic life that had plagued Roze for years. She supposed she ought to be glad that such a wicked man no longer existed, but instead she felt miserable because in spite of all his faults, she had shared her life with Beni for over three years and spent most of those years hoping that someday, somehow, he would take a look in the mirror and realize all of his wrongdoings. Now it was too late, but it had always been too late. A man like Beni would never change and she was better off without him, but _oh_, she didn't want him dead. He probably deserved his grisly fate, but she had never wanted him dead.

The sobs kept coming, making her breath ragged as her shoulders shook and her throat grew sore. The tears kept falling, soaking the pillow that pressed against her face. She wished she hadn't gone to the morgue to see him. She could have handled the news without turning into a sobbing, weeping mess, but something about the sight of Beni lying there all cold and stiff, with the bullet wound in his chest, completely undid her.

The door to the hotel room creaked open and Roza tried to quiet her sobs. She imagined she looked awful, with her red eyes and tear-streaked face, and wiped at one eye with the long sleeve of her dress.

"Oh, dear," she heard Jonathan mutter from across the room. Soon he was at her side, one hand awkwardly stroking her shoulder as she desperately tried to quit sobbing. "Come now, Roza. It'll be all right. I've brought a little something to cheer you up."

"I-I am fine," Roza stammered. She shrank away from Jonathan's touch and wiped at her other eye.

"If you're fine, then I'm the king of England. Which I wouldn't mind being, come to think of it. Do you think I'd make a marvelous king, Roza?"

She managed a shaky smile. "No."

"Oh, but think of the gold! And the _jewels_! Kings are filthy rich and they don't have to do a single blasted thing to earn it. Bloody unfair, it is. Now come on, dear girl. Take a look at what I've brought you."

She couldn't deny him anything when he was trying so hard to lift her spirits. Jonathan was the only person she had left, now that Beni was gone, and Roza was lucky to have such a delightfully carefree man in her life, even if he was prone to gambling his money away and exaggerating about his exploits. Everyone had their faults and Jonathan's flaws were trivial compared to the man who had unwillingly given Roza his last name. A man like Beni wasn't worth crying over. She tossed aside the tear-stained pillow and sat up to meet Jonathan's kind blue eyes, remembering all those nights ago when she first used him to ease her loneliness, thinking he would be a one-night stand who would drift away like every other good thing that came into her life. She still found it hard to believe that he actually wanted her. That he actually cared.

She looked around the hotel room until her eyes landed upon a little table covered with drinking glasses and bottles of liquor. "You bring drinks?" she asked Jonathan, slightly puzzled.

"Oh, not just any drinks. This is the best of the best from Uncle Oliver's liquor cabinet," Jonathan said proudly. "Had to borrow my cousin's car to bring it over here, but it was worth the trouble." He grabbed a bottle of amber-colored alcohol and tipped it into a glass, then handed it to Roza. "Here, let's start off with a nice brandy, shall we? It'll make you feel better."

It was typical of Jonathan to bring liquor as a source of comfort, but Roza appreciated the gesture and took a grateful sip. She rarely got the chance to drink before Jonathan came along, since Beni usually kept the liquor to himself, but Beni wasn't here with his black heart and his greedy hands. She would never see that wicked face again. Roza held back another onslaught of tears and drained her glass until the last drop had disappeared, taking her grief along with it.

"Splendid!" said Jonathan, who was already on his second glass. He kissed Roza on the forehead and poured her another drink. "Now you and I are going to forget that whole awful mess, all right? No more tears. There's a good girl."

Roza took his advice and raised the glass to her lips, feeling better already as the liquor burned down her throat. "This is what you English do?" she asked. "Drink to forget?"

"Well, it's what _I_ do, and it's never let me down yet."

Roza felt tipsy before long and thought of Beni again; not Beni as a pale, stiff corpse with a hole in his chest, but Beni on the last night she spoke to him. He brought that woman of his to the apartment, that blonde woman with the fancy dress and bored green eyes, and Roza couldn't believe that an ugly little rat like Beni managed to snag a mistress who was both wealthy and attractive. She made Roza feel jealous, not because she was spending her time with Beni, but because she was beautiful in a way that Roza had always envied in women who had money and people who cared about them. She made Roza feel like a common little foreigner, a shabby outsider who faded into the background, and Roza couldn't help but wonder if Beni would have been a little kinder if Roza looked more like his blonde mistress. Men who loved material things were always incredibly shallow.

Thanks to the alcohol, she ended up spilling the whole story about Beni and Jonathan's blonde cousin, too intoxicated to care about her bad grammar. At first Jonathan thought she was just rambling incoherently, but once he pieced together her story he gaped at her in shock, then proceeded to take a strong shot of liquor.

"Beni and _Gloria_?" he exclaimed. "My God, I had no idea!"

"Gloria," Roza echoed faintly. Even her name was beautiful. "I wonder if... if she know that Beni is dead."

"My God," Jonathan said again, speaking more to himself than to Roza. "I always did worry about that girl, but to be taken in by a blackguard like him! She didn't love that awful little bugger, did she?"

"I don't know," said Roza. "I only see her one time."

"Well, this certainly calls for another drink."

But Roza didn't want another drink. The alcohol had helped her forget the pain, but it wasn't enough to fill the emptiness. She put aside her glass and pulled Jonathan against her, tasting whiskey on his lips as she kissed him, and pushed Gloria out of her mind as she fumbled at Jonathan's trousers, feeling wonderfully free and lightheaded. It didn't matter if Gloria was beautiful and rich. Roza had something that Gloria didn't have, something that Gloria _couldn't _have now that Beni was gone, and Roza wasn't going to let that go if she could help it.

"Please," she murmured in Jonathan's ear as he settled on top of her, one hand pushing up the skirt of her dress. "Don't leave me."

"Never, love," Jonathan murmured back, and soon Roza lost herself in a beautiful haze that dried away her tears.


	34. Nothing

Nothing

Gloria didn't love Beni.

That was what she kept telling herself as she sat in her bedroom with the door locked, trying to concentrate on the record playing on her phonograph. The morning newspaper had been thrust under her bed where she wouldn't be tempted to pick it up, but she didn't need it anyway. The words from the article kept echoing in her head despite the music that filled her bedroom, haunting her with the reality that her comfortable life didn't feel so comfortable anymore.

Still, she didn't love Beni. No woman could possibly love a man like Beni, with his funny voice and selfish ways and ridiculous little mustache. No woman could ever love a man so absurd and pathetic. Gloria didn't believe in love anyway; love was nothing but a silly notion that people believed in the way children believed in Santa Claus or fairies. Love made people into fools.

Though she was extraordinarily _fond_ of Beni. She supposed she adored him in a strange way, because he was unlike anyone she had ever known and didn't bore her the way the rest of the world did. Now she felt only emptiness. A couple of tears threatened to spill from her eyes but she blinked them away, forcing herself to hum along to the tune that blared from the phonograph. She wouldn't cry, not for a man like Beni Gabor. Not for a man she didn't love.

But oh, she missed him. She missed him terribly.

She thought she was having a bit of fun the other night at the restaurant, but if she hadn't told such an outrageous lie, then Beni wouldn't have gone off to his apartment alone, and he wouldn't have gotten shot. Only it wasn't that much of a lie, really. Her monthly cycle, which normally arrived with such regularity, was late that month and she thought that maybe, just _maybe_ Beni had gotten her into the trouble that all unmarried women feared. That maybe she was late because of a baby. She decided to stretch the truth and tell Beni she was sure, just to see how he would react, and now it was too late to tell him that he wasn't a father after all. Her bleeding started that morning, right before she found out that Beni had been shot, and she couldn't help but feel relieved.

A day or two ago, she might have been disappointed that she was free from the scandal of having a bastard child, but now she was glad there would be no baby. She was so tired; tired of this vast emptiness that filled her heart and tired of trying to shock people simply for the sake of shocking them. Her effort to shock Beni had given him nothing but a bullet in his chest.

The phonograph grated on Gloria's ears and she shut it off, hating the numb, cavernous feeling that immediately replaced the music. It served her right for being foolish enough to actually _care_ about a stupid, greedy little man who made the English language sound like a joke each time he opened his mouth. She didn't want his silly old baby anyway. It probably would have been ugly.

What she really needed was a drink. A good strong drink and a change of atmosphere.

She reached under the bed and retrieved the discarded newspaper, glancing briefly at those horrible phrases like "fatally wounded" and "no sign of the attacker" and "recognized by his neighbors as Beni Gabor," then crumpled up the paper until the words were nothing more than a jumbled mess and tossed it out of her bedroom window. Let the gardener have it tomorrow morning. She didn't care. Gloria didn't even read the news, but Freddie left the paper lying on the dining room table and she happened to catch sight of the article, surprised that Beni, of all people, had managed to get his name in print. She still found it hard to believe.

She still needed that drink.

The evening had just barely started, but it was never too early to seek amusement in the city. For some inexplicable reason that she couldn't explain, she longed to speak to someone as she crept out of her room and shut the door behind her, and found herself peeping into Freddie's room, where her brother sat at his desk scribbling in some journal or other. He always claimed that he was going to publish his memoirs someday, though Gloria figured he was full of rubbish. Freddie was always full of rubbish.

"I'm taking the car," she announced.

"After you spilled cigarette ash and wine on the front seat?" Freddie said as he slammed his journal shut. "Not a chance, Gloria. If you want to go gadding about the city at all hours, then get your own car."

"You know what a bother that is. I'll take the car tonight, and then I'll never touch it again."

"There's no use trying to bribe me. I've hidden the key to the garage."

Gloria didn't have the energy to be upset. She couldn't even muster up a surge of disappointment. "Fine," she said coolly. "I'll take a cab."

"I pity the cab driver."

"And Freddie?"

He had opened his journal back up, thinking she was ready to leave, and hastily shut it with a snap. "Yes?" said Freddie, making no effort to disguise his impatience.

"Rick O'Connell didn't steal Daniels' wallet," said Gloria. "I did."

Freddie gaped at her, speechless for once in his life.

"Do me a favor and tell Margaret, will you?"

She didn't wait to hear his answer. Gloria retreated from Freddie's doorway and walked downstairs, past the parlor where Evelyn was reading a book, and decided that she had done enough good deeds for the evening. She slipped out of the house and into a cab, then spent the next five minutes sitting in the backseat wondering where she would go. Did she dare to visit Hamunaptra, after all the nights she had spent there with Beni? Could she really return to the bar where so many memories lingered behind?

Goodness, she was getting sentimental. Gloria frowned at her reflection in the window, longing to give herself a good kick, and gave the cab driver directions to the street where Hamunaptra was located. She would drink herself silly and flirt with the men, and maybe she would find someone to amuse her until dawn arrived. Maybe she would find someone else with a funny accent and pathetic eyes who could make her feel a little less empty.

She didn't love Beni, so where was the harm in trying to replace him?

Maybe she would find someone better than Beni, someone handsome and witty and rich. There was more to life than going slumming, and she would never know what type of man truly suited her until she tried them all. She would try every type she could find until she filled that strange, uncomfortable void that Beni had left behind, and she would have the sense not to care about a single one of them. Caring brought nothing but trouble.

"Oh, my," Gloria murmured.

The cab had turned onto the correct street, but it looked nothing like the old familiar street Gloria had visited so many times. The oriental rug shop, which was normally so quiet, was completely swarmed with policemen who had undoubtedly discovered the speakeasy hidden inside the shop's basement. She saw men bursting through the doors and onto the street, cases of liquor in their arms, and somebody was busy dumping a barrel of beer into the sewer. Gloria didn't see Rick O'Connell amid the chaos, but she couldn't help but wonder if he had been arrested, and if her one good deed had been for nothing.

"Take me back the way you came," Gloria ordered the cab driver, refusing to look at the turmoil any longer. "I changed my mind."

Hamunaptra was gone forever. Beni was gone forever.

Gloria had nothing left.


	35. Epilogue

**Author's Note: **The final chapter, at long last! This story didn't turn out quite the way I wanted and I might revise it someday, but for now I'm just happy that it's finished. I meant to write a full-length chapter instead of a short epilogue, but things just kind of... ended up like this. Anyway, I hope this last little installment is satisfactory!

* * *

Epilogue

"So," said Rick. "You miss me?"

He felt awkward setting foot in the Miltons' home after everything that had happened, but his discomfort soon vanished when Evelyn dropped her book in her lap and gazed at him in open-mouthed astonishment.

"Rick!" Her voice came out as a breathless little gasp, but quickly grew stronger as her shock turned to excitement. "Oh, thank goodness you're here. It's been dreadful!"

"Couldn't live without me, huh?"

"No, it isn't that," she said, blushing furiously as she tossed her book aside and rose to her feet. "It's Mr. Burns. He's been arrested. Margaret's so upset she can't eat or sleep or speak to anyone."

"I know," said Rick.

"You can't possibly. His name was kept out of the papers!"

"Word travels fast around here."

Especially when Rick had narrowly avoided getting arrested himself. He didn't know who tipped off the police about Hamunaptra, or why bribes failed to keep the speakeasy safe this time, but he was glad he steered clear of Hamunaptra on the night of the raid. He was glad he quit bootlegging before everything fell apart. He supposed it was only a matter of time before Daniels or Henderson spilled his name to the cops, but nobody had any proof of his involvement. Meela didn't believe in keeping records.

"They say the artifacts were stolen goods," Evelyn said, tactfully changing the subject. "The artifacts at Hamunaptra, I mean. They were stolen from museums and replaced with very convincing copies. Imagine all that Egyptian history, right here in Chicago!"

Rick didn't share her passion for ancient Egypt, but her enthusiasm lifted his spirits. "Guess you were right all along," he said.

"Well of course I was. I know a true artifact when I see it." She stole a glance up into Rick's face and lowered her voice, looking unusually shy. "I'm glad you've come by for a visit. I was so afraid that, well... it's been so dreary here these last couple of days. I'm sure you understand. And well—"

Rick cut off her nervous ramblings by pulling her close and kissing her, tasting freedom in the softness of her lips. As soon as the deed was done he jerked away, remembering himself, and ran a guilty hand through his hair. "Sorry," he muttered.

"For what?" she said a little breathlessly.

And he knew that everything was all right, so he kissed her again and offered no apologies afterward. Someday he would tell her about his short-lived role in Meela's doomed empire, but it wouldn't be that day, and he left Evelyn with the promise that he would see her again soon. When he stepped outside the house he found Gloria standing on the porch with a cigarette clamped between her lips, staring hard at nothing. Rick hovered a few paces away, then cleared his throat so he wouldn't startle her.

"Thanks," he said.

Gloria took a lazy drag on her cigarette and looked him up and down, her face as rigid as ice. "It was no big deal," she said.

But it was, at least to Rick. She had probably never done a generous thing in her life, but she had cleared his name from the wallet incident, and that had to count for something.

"I'm sorry about Beni," said Rick.

"Don't be," she said with a brittle smile. "He isn't worth it."

"Yeah," said Rick, remembering all the betrayals. "Maybe he isn't. He spent so much time using people, I don't think anyone really knew him."

"You're quite right about that." Gloria threw down the end of her cigarette and crushed it beneath the heel of her shoe. She began to blink furiously, perhaps warding off unwanted tears, and kicked at the crushed cigarette until it tumbled off the porch. "You know, my brother Freddie used to say that the day I care about anyone but myself is the day Hell freezes over."

"I guess Hell has frozen over, hasn't it?" said Rick.

"Yes," Gloria said with a sigh. "I guess it has."


End file.
